


The Devil You Know

by SilchasRuin



Series: The Devil Went Down To Hogwarts [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But His Role Models Are Universally Terrible - Freeform, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Harry Really Does Want To Be A Good Person - Freeform, Horcrux Speaks To Harry - Freeform, Humor, Insane Quirrellmort - Freeform, No Bashing, Sane Voldemort (Arguably) - Freeform, Slytherin Harry Potter, With Interesting and Varied Consequences - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2020-05-16 06:05:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 67,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilchasRuin/pseuds/SilchasRuin
Summary: All Harry Potter ever wanted was to finally be accepted as someone other than an incurably criminal boy. A fresh start in Slytherin - which, admittedly, does seem to have a worrying proportion of goons - seems to be just what he needs to make some lifelong friendships. And if that life happens to be an immortal one, all the better.It's too bad that the high-pitched voice in his head has other ideas.





	1. The Beginning of the End

If Little Whinging had been as particular about the state of their road maintenance as they had been about the precise length of grass on their homeowners' lawns, the world would have been very different.

Sadly, their priorities were misplaced.

And so it happened that one day, as a ten-year old Harry Potter looked back over his shoulder to smirk at the figures of Dudley and his gang receding into the distance, his toe bumped against a raised section of sidewalk. He had time to gasp. Perhaps if he had been thinking about something other than what Dudley and his crowd would do when they caught up to their favorite punching bag, he might have bothered to stretch his hands out to try and save himself. Perhaps even a burst of magic, a rare and precious miracle for a boy who had so little else to be happy about, might have broken his fall.

But Harry Potter just wasn't thinking. Right up until his skull smashed into the pavement, the only thoughts running through his mind were those of mindless panic.

And then there was only blissful darkness, and silence.

Piers Polkiss, weedy and small, slowed down as he approached the crumpled figure on the pavement. Cautiously, he edged forward until he could poke the body with the toe of his trainers. His small eyes narrowed even further when the boy failed to so much as twitch in response.

None of Dudley's friends were particularly clever boys. Still, dim-witted as Piers was, he recognized trouble when he saw it. "'E's not movin'," he called out as Dudley and Malcolm, huffing slightly, moved up to join them.

"Huh?" Malcolm's face twisted as he attempted to struggle through a sentence. "So what?"

Dudley was a little quicker on the uptake. "This isn't _my_ fault!"

Piers shrugged one shoulder. Dudley's cousin still hadn't moved. The three boys stared nervously at each other, shifting from foot to foot. "He's _your_ cousin, isn't he?" Piers pointed out.

Dudley raised his massive fists, swinging around to face his friend. "You're not going to rat on me, are you?"

"No, no," Piers said quickly, backing away. "What if he's dead, though? What're we goin' to do then?"

Dudley paled. "He's not dead! We were just having a bit of fun, that's all! You can't die from a fall like that!" He hesitated for a moment. "You can't, can you?"

"Wake up, you!" Malcolm yelled, aiming a kick at Harry's calf. His leg didn't even twitch, sliding limply forward to fall slack against the ground.

Dudley looked as if he was going to be sick. "I'll get my mum."

Piers leaned forward, peering at the smaller boy's face. Behind the mop of messy hair covering his forehead, Harry's eyes were closed. A strangely peaceful smile was frozen on his lips. "Better hurry," he said.

Dudley started running.

***

_Boy,_ a voice said, faint but insistent. _Boy!_ Then, much louder: _BOY!_

"I'm up, I'm up, stop shouting!" Harry jolted upright, wincing as a fresh burst of pain exploded in his head. Clutching his forehead with one hand, he looked around the empty room in confusion. He could have sworn that he'd heard Uncle Vernon-

_I most certainly am NOT,_ someone hissed, indignant and cold and sounding as if they were standing right behind him, whispering in his ear.

Harry froze. _Hello?_ he thought tentatively.

_Ah,_ the voice said, sounding satisfied. _Good. You can hear me. This will make things much easier._

That settled it. He'd finally cracked, like the Dursleys had always said he would. They'd finally be justified in packing him off to a home, or an asylum, or just getting rid of him somewhere in London-

_Stop your blathering and listen, boy,_ the voice snarled. It was unpleasantly high-pitched, almost on the edge of being grating.

Harry frowned. He knew he wasn't very strong. But there was no way he was just going to sit there and let some figment of his imagination talk back to him. _My name isn't 'boy,'_ he thought.

_What?_ He could almost picture a shadowy figure drawing back slightly, frowning. _I do not care. You will-_

_My name,_ he thought, trying to convey the same sense of authority that his teachers had, _is Harry Potter._

Silence. Harry began to hope that he'd driven the voice away. Maybe he had a concussion? He remembered falling down, and he seemed to be in a hospital room. Maybe once the headache went away, the voice would, too.

His hopes were dashed when the voice spoke again. You _are Harry Potter_ , it said. It sounded more cautious, this time.

_That's what I just said,_ he thought back. Great. It wasn't bad enough that he was stuck with a voice in his head. It just had to be a really _dim_ voice, to boot.

_Enough,_ the voice hissed unpleasantly. _I will not be insulted by the likes of you. I WILL restore myself!_ Harry cried out as the stabbing throb of pain in his forehead intensified, steadily growing until it felt as if someone was driving a fist through his skull. All he could think of was the pain - it wouldn't stop, it wouldn't stop, it wouldn't-

And then it vanished, instantly. Harry slumped forward, the air escaping his lungs in a sigh of relief. Gingerly, he lowered his hand from his forehead. Still nothing. The pain was gone.

_Boy._ The voice was astonished, now. _What did you do?_

_My name's not 'boy,'_ he repeated stubbornly. The voice ignored him, so Harry folded his arms and decided to ignore the voice back. He was quite happy to stare into space and enjoy the lack of pain for a few minutes.

The voice did not seem to be as patient as he was. With a distinct air of gritted teeth, it repeated its question. _Harry Potter. What did you do?_

He thought about it for a second. That was a good point, actually. What *had* he done? _I dunno,_ he thought back, doing his best to convey a mental shrug.

_You don't know?_ The voice's barely suppressed rage flared into incandescence. _How can you not know?_

The novelty of having someone else to talk to was rapidly wearing off. _Well, I don't,_ Harry thought, starting to feel annoyed. _You're rather rude, you know._

_You impertinent brat,_ the voice hissed. _Imagine that you, the most powerful wizard in the world, are trapped in a small, dark box for ten years. Unable to speak, to move, to even use any of your senses. And when you wake, you find yourself as a disembodied mind stuck inside an imbecilic child. Would you not feel inclined to be somewhat RUDE?_

Harry didn't even know where to begin. It sounded like a trap, though. _I can't imagine being a wizard,_ he thought cautiously.

The voice shrieked in frustration. _No, you idiot! I am the wizard! You - you are nothing!_

Harry frowned. _I'm not talking to you any more._

The voice seemed momentarily surprised. _Good. Now, here is what you must do-_

_No,_ Harry interrupted it. _You don't seem to like doing nothing, do you? Well, I'm *great* at doing nothing. I'm pretty used to it, actually. So I don't have to talk to you. Or listen to you. You can carry on ranting to yourself, or whatever. See how far it gets you._

_How dare you,_ the voice breathed. _I am the greatest wizard alive-_

_You're not alive,_ Harry pointed out. _You're stuck inside a ten-year old boy's head. You don't really sound much like 'greatest wizard' material to me._ The voice screamed and railed some more, but Harry was used to such things. He picked up a tatty-looking brochure from the bedside table, wrinkling his nose as he stared at the cover. Colonoscopies and You: What You Need To Know!

Well, it would certainly be better than staring at the wall.

It was almost morning before the voice finally gave in. _Harry Potter,_ it said smoothly. _I believe we got off on the wrong foot._

Harry set down the brochure he was holding and waited. He had to admit, it felt good to be able to lord it over someone else for a change.

_What do you say, Harry? I admit that I lost my temper. Why don't we start again?_

_All right,_ Harry said cautiously. _Why don't you introduce yourself?_

_Very well. My name,_ the voice said grandiosely, _is...Marvolo._

Harry was unable to contain a small snort. _Oh, come on._

_Excuse me?_ The voice was ice-cold.

_That's completely unfair. I gave you my real name. You're giving me a made-up one._

_What makes you think that it is 'made up', as you so eloquently put it?_

_What sort of a name is Marvolo?_ Harry countered.

_Marvolo is a perfectly respectable wizarding name, I'll have you know,_ the voice said stiffly. _And may I point out that it is you who is now being rude?_

_Sorry,_ Harry said immediately, conditioned to apologize even for things that he knew weren't his fault. _But...wizards don't really exist._

_The alternative is that you are carrying on a conversation with a voice in your head,_ said voice said dryly. _I suspect that you would prefer the other explanation._

It had a point. _Okay...Marvolo,_ Harry said. _Nice to meet you. I think._

_Likewise,_ Marvolo purred. _Now, Harry, I seem to be in something of a predicament. You see, I appear to have been cursed by one of my enemies._

_What a coincidence,_ Harry thought sarcastically. _Me, too._

_Ha. Ha. Ha._ Marvolo's laugh sounded as if it was emanating from a Halloween decoration. _I was hoping that you might be able to help me, Harry. You see, to restore my body, I need to borrow some of your magic. Don't worry, though. Once I am fully restored, I will make sure to reward you properly._

_Yeah, no,_ Harry said immediately.

_Why not?_ Marvolo seemed to be genuinely puzzled. _After all, you do not believe in magic. What use is it to you?_

_I'm not stupid, no matter what the Dursleys think._ Harry folded his arms. _You've done nothing but insult me, until you needed me to do something. And I'm pretty sure you were the one making my head hurt, before._

_You're right._ Harry blinked in surprise. _I acted foolishly when I woke. I had not expected to be dealing with someone so...like myself._ Harry didn't really think that was a compliment, but it seemed to be intended as one. So that was progress, at least. _It would be improper of me to ask a favor without offering something in return._

"I don't want anything from you," he said out loud, alarmed.

_Come, now. There must be something you want._

_I've read books about deals with vaguely evil voices, thanks,_ Harry thought promptly. _I think I'm all right._

_Harry, be reasonable-_ Harry's attention was ripped away from Marvolo as the door burst open. A frazzled-looking nurse hurried in.

"Mr. Potter, you're awake!" She hurried over to the monitors by the side of the bed, frowning as she checked the display. "These must be broken...I can't imagine why...I'm so sorry." She looked at him anxiously. "You haven't been awake for too long, have you, love?"

"No," he lied. She seemed nice enough, and he didn't want to make her any more upset. 

"Oh, good," she said, obviously relieved. "Your family will be pleased to hear you're awake, I'm sure."

"No, they won't," he said immediately, but regretted it at the look on her face. "Sorry. I was just joking."

"Of course." The nurse gave him a warm smile. "Well, we'll give them a call, and you'll be free to go once they come pick you up. All of your scans were completely normal. How are you feeling?"

""Fine," he said.

"I'll give them a call now," she said, apparently satisfied. "I'm surprised they're not here already!"

Harry wasn't. But he didn't say anything, even as she hurried out.

_I wish they cared about me._

_I saw them bring you in, Harry Potter._ Marvolo's voice held disdain, but for once, it wasn't just for him. _Those filthy Muggles were carrying on and on about the inconvenience, about what their kind would think. They will *never* care about you._

_But I want them to,_ he thought sadly, unable to stop himself.

_I can help with that, you know,_ Marvolo whispered.

He tried not to give away how his heart soared at the thought. _You can?_

_I can show you how to make them treat you better. I can teach you how to make them respect you, as they should._

It wasn't *quite* answering the question. But still, if there was a chance... _That doesn't sound like it's really worth the magic you say I've got,_ he said cautiously.

_I am sure that we can work something out,_ Marvolo said smoothly.

Harry hesitated a moment, to keep up appearances, but he already knew what he was going to say. _What do I have to do?_

In his head, Marvolo smiled.


	2. Something Wicked This Way Comes

"Good morning, Aunt Petunia," Harry said politely. "I made everyone some pancakes."

Petunia's knuckles whitened as she clutched the fabric of her dress. "Y-you didn't need to do that, Harry."

Harry sighed internally at the way she stiffened when she caught sight of him. She didn't relax an iota, even when he carefully portioned the pancakes equally and added a tiny bit of butter to the top of her stack, just the way she liked them. All he'd wanted was love. All he'd managed to receive, he reflected glumly, was fear. It didn't seem to matter how nice he was to her and Uncle Vernon, or how he'd tried to explain himself afterward. Perhaps Marvolo had been right when he'd told Harry last year that the Dursleys would never love him.

Still, with Uncle Vernon doing his best to ignore him and Dudley giving him grudging acknowledgment - if not quite respect - he had to admit that things were a lot better than they had been. He'd even been allowed to move from the cupboard into a proper bedroom, and was now the proud owner of several books and a couple of games of his own.

All in all, he was glad he'd tripped on that sidewalk and met Marvolo. Sure, he was definitely Evil - with a capital E - but Harry had to admit that he was pretty fun to talk to. The few minor magics that Marvolo had taught him were extraordinarily useful, and even though he'd been wary of the rituals Marvolo had demanded in return, nothing apocalyptic seemed to have happened as a result. Still, despite the fact that none of Marvolo's efforts to escape from his imprisonment in Harry's head had been successful yet, Marvolo seemed unusually confident that a solution would present itself soon enough. All of Harry's attempts to get him to expand on the subject had been utterly fruitless, to his frustration. He would have to work on being more persuasive without relying on Marvolo's help.

Harry raised his head as he heard the clang of the mailslot from the hallway. "I'll get it," he said, beginning to rise.

"No!" Petunia shot out of her seat, lips pinched. "I can get it. Or Dudley."

"It's okay," he assured her. "Don't you want to eat your pancakes? They'll get cold." Aunt Petunia's expression didn't change, but she sat back down, staring at her plate as Harry went to engage in the familiar chore of sorting the mail. Junk mail, bill, weekly newspaper, junk -

And there it was. A letter addressed to him.

 _At last,_ Marvolo said smugly.

 _You know what this is?_ Marvolo didn't answer, of course. He didn't need to. Whatever the letter was, it was clearly related to the solution he'd been hinting at.

Harry returned to the table, his letter carefully tucked under his arm. He spread the Dursleys' mail in front of Aunt Petunia, who was still staring at her untouched pancakes, then sat down, turning the letter around thoughtfully. It looked handwritten, and rather old-fashioned. Curiously, it seemed as if whoever had addressed it knew that he lived in the second bedroom of the Dursleys' house. His eyes widened as he unfolded the letter, staring at the words emblazoned across the top. _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._ He heard a strangled gasp as his aunt dropped her cutlery.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, staring at her curiously.

She nodded jerkily. "Your mother - my sister - had the same letter from _them._ " She seemed to realize what she was saying, and clamped her mouth shut.

"D'you know how to reply to this, then?" he asked curiously, scanning the letter. He turned it around to show her. "Or where to get all of these school supplies they're talking about?" He was rather hoping she knew something useful. He would prefer not having to trade Marvolo something for the information, otherwise.

His aunt just shook her head, to his disappointment. "I didn't care to know about any of those fr-those things," she amended hastily. "It was clear that our sort weren't welcome in _their_ world."

"Too bad," he said out loud. Then, to Marvolo: _Knowing that information would benefit both of us, you know._

 _It would benefit you more,_ Marvolo said. _Luckily for you, the price that I ask will also benefit us both._

 _How so?_ he asked cautiously.

 _Information for information,_ Marvolo said promptly. _Events over the past ten years. Useful new potions and spells. Books to help restore my rightful place in society._

 _Right,_ Harry thought sarcastically. _Perfectly normal stuff._

 _Precisely!_ Marvolo thought back gleefully. He didn't seem to comprehend that anyone would ever dare be sarcastic to him, which rather worked in Harry's favor.

 _Okay,_ he thought decisively. _It's a deal._ All in all, this was probably the most harmless bargain he'd made with Marvolo to date. What could possibly go wrong?

_Excellent. You will need to acquire money, by the way. Five hundred pounds ought to do it._

_Five hundred-_ Harry's eyes widened. He barely had twenty saved up. There was nothing for it - he'd have to ask.

"Aunt Petunia," he said, and her head whipped around to face him. "Sorry, but could I - er - well, I need some money for school supplies..."

"How much?"

"Five hundred pounds." Surprisingly, Aunt Petunia didn't even blink as she rose from her seat.

"I'll get it from Vernon," she said as she hastily fled the room. Harry opened his mouth to thank her, but she was already gone. He shrugged as he carried his plate to the sink, carefully rinsing it before loading it into the dishwasher.

_So, where are we going?_

***

Diagon Alley wasn't listed in the Yellow Pages. After a lot of cajoling and pleading, he'd finally gotten Marvolo to grudgingly admit that he knew the nearest intersection. Harry carefully counted out bus fare in his hand, memorizing the route one more time before he stepped out the door.

 _More filthy Muggles,_ Marvolo grumbled. _I do not see why we cannot just walk._

 _That's easy for *you* to say,_ Harry thought. _You haven't got any legs._

Marvolo sulked all the way to Charing Cross Road.

Diagon Alley looked like nothing more than a horrific dump. Harry peered around uneasily as the bus drove off. He had a terrible feeling that Marvolo had lured him to this area to be mugged by the legion of loyal followers he was always going on about.

 _Keep walking,_ Marvolo commanded.

Harry did so, still nervous. _If I die, Marvolo, do you die as well?_

 _You're not going to die, you idiot,_ Marvolo hissed impatiently. _Look closely - it should be right there-_

Harry stopped dead, gaping at the relatively nice-looking pub sign that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. _I 'm not going to die!_ he thought happily as he pushed open the door.

He rapidly revised that thought as he stepped inside. The pub was dark, dingy, and had a very distinct smell, possibly due to the many cracks festooning its walls. Harry was well aware that he looked very out of place among the clientele, who seemed universally surly, tall, and dressed in long, trailing robes.

 _Keep walking,_ Marvolo repeated, and he was only too happy to oblige. Harry kept his head down as he went through the back door, trying to look as if he knew what he was doing.

 _I'm going to need some robes, I guess,_ he thought as he tapped the bricks of the alley wall in time with Marvolo's instructions.

Marvolo agreed with him. _Bank first. Then robes. Then wand. And then,_ his voice said, redolent with anticipation, _the materials for my dark resurrection._

 _Could you not talk about it like that?_ he thought, annoyed. _Were you always this dramatic when you were alive?_

 _Drama gets results,_ Marvolo said, sounding a little peeved. _Would you rather I call them 'the materials for my well-researched and meticulously planned potential un-possession?'_

Harry had to admit that the first version sounded a lot better.

 _Consider that lesson free of charge,_ Marvolo said smugly as the alley wall peeled back onto a landscape of wonder and delight.

***

Harry craned his neck slightly to get a closer look at the boy on the stool beside him. He was somewhat chubby, with dark brown hair and a morose expression. He didn't look any happier to be at a robe fitting than Harry felt.

 _The Longbottom boy,_ Marvolo said dismissively. _Ignore him. If he is anything as dull as his parents, he is not worth cultivating._

"Hello," Harry said promptly, ignoring the hiss of frustration in his head. As far as he was concerned, anyone who Marvolo thought was boring was probably a pretty decent person. "I'm Harry. What's your name?"

The boy looked startled to be addressed, eyes widening. "M-me? I-I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom."

"Nice to meet you, Neville!" Harry gave him his best smile.

"S-same here!" The boy beamed, evidently pleased. He had also evidently run out of things to say.

"So, are you going to Hogwarts, too?" It seemed like a fair guess, considering they looked about the same age and were being fitted for the same style of robes.

"Yes!" Neville wilted a little. "I was so relieved when I got my letter. I-I thought I might not have..."

"Why not?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

Neville looked a little ashamed. "My magic didn't really kick in until I was about eight or so. But then my great-uncle Algie dropped me out a third-floor window, and I bounced all the way down the garden and into the road! Everyone was so happy, but we couldn't help but wonder, you know?"

"Wait, what?" Harry said, aghast. He was still stuck on the part where the other boy had casually mentioned that his great-uncle had chucked him out a window. "I'm sorry, I'm new to this whole thing. Is-is that a _normal_ thing to do, around here?"

"Well, he had to make sure I wasn't a Muggle, right?"

Harry gaped at him. "Neville, that's awful! I'm so sorry that happened to you! Your great-uncle sounds awful!"

"Uncle Algie's all right!" Neville said. "Look, he even got me a toad as a pre-Hogwarts gift!"

"I really don't think that ought to make up for it," Harry said weakly.

"He's a great toad," Neville said defensively. "His name's Trevor, and he's the best toad ever! Say hello, Trevor!"

A toad poked its head out from the pocket of his robes. "Croak," it croaked.

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again. "He's a very nice toad," Harry said, his voice faint.

"Isn't he?" Neville said proudly.

"That's you done, dear," the fierce-looking seamstress - Madam Malkin - mumbled around a mouthful of pins. Either she had somehow managed to completely miss Neville's near-death experience story, or she had heard it but didn't really care, which Harry found even more horrifying.

"See you at Hogwarts, Harry!" Neville said cheerfully as he hopped off the stool. Harry waved automatically, watching him recede into the distance.

 _Told you he was boring,_ Marvolo said smugly.

 _Boring?!_ Harry demanded. _Are you joking? Did you hear what he just said?_

_I didn't say his uncle was boring. I said that *he* was boring._

Not for the first time, Harry wondered how he'd gotten to the point where conversations like this were normal.

"That's two sets of school robes, two dress robes, and two casual sets, correct?" Madam Malkin said briskly, eyeing his trainers with a wrinkled nose.

"Yes," he said, watching the impassive woman warily. What if Marvolo wasn't a particularly Evil wizard? What if he was just a very Average wizard, because the entire wizarding world was completely insane?

Suddenly, Harry was *very* eager to get the rest of his school supplies and get out of Diagon Alley before he really did get mugged or defenestrated.

***

Newly equipped with a wand, his new robes, most of his school materials, and many potions ingredients that he was pretty sure weren't standard, Harry walked into Flourish and Blotts' Bookstore, his final stop of the day.

He tallied up prices in his head as he piled the required schoolbooks into his shopping basket, very aware of how much lighter his pocket was. To fulfill his bargain with Marvolo, he would need to pick up quite a few extra books. He added _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Modern Magical History, An Encyclopedia of Modern Spells,_ and ten years' worth of compiled back issues from _Potions Monthly_ , all of which looked alarmingly dense. He hovered, uncertain, near a book titled _Hogwarts: A History._

 _Leave it,_ Marvolo snapped. _It's rubbish. Biased nonsense._

 _It could be useful,_ Harry argued. _I'm going to Hogwarts in just a couple months, and I barely know anything about it._

 _Put it down,_ Marvolo hissed. _The pertinent parts can be summarized in a few words. There were four founders of Hogwarts: Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Four; Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Godric Gryffindor. The latter three were idiots. Salazar Slytherin was the only one of them who foresaw the threat that Muggles would pose to wizarding society, and he was ostracized and reviled for his wisdom._

 _Wow. Not biased at all,_ Harry thought.

 _As I said. There are four houses at Hogwarts which students are divided into, named after each of the founders. Slytherin exemplifies cunning, ambition, and talent. Ravenclaw prizes knowledge and wisdom. Gryffindor glorifies stupidity, impulsiveness, and rash decisions. And Hufflepuff..._ Marvolo paused. _Well, nobody is quite sure what Hufflepuff stands for, actually. 'All the rest', apparently._

Harry plucked the book from the shelf, hurriedly checking the index, then paging through to the correct section. Marvolo had described Slytherin and Ravenclaw correctly, but Gryffindor's virtue was apparently bravery, and Hufflepuff's was friendship and loyalty. Admittedly, Gryffindor sounded like a pretty terrible house, but Hufflepuff didn't seem so bad.

 _Do not let printed words fool you,_ Marvolo hissed. _You cannot win such things as friendship and loyalty simply by being in a house. To truly gain such things, your deeds must be great enough to merit them._

Well, that certainly fit with what he already knew of the wizarding world, Harry thought glumly as he replaced the book. He still had eight Galleons left, as well as some Sickles and Knuts. Was there anything else Marvolo wanted?

_Yes, as a matter of fact. But we won't find it *here*._

Harry shuddered at those ominous words as he walked up to the counter to pay for his purchases. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to like wherever they ended up next.

***

Harry did his best not to gawk at the oddities on display - a shriveled hand, a necklace that seemed to dance with hidden flame. Apparently, he hadn't been entirely successful.

"Can I help you?" The proprietor of the shop was old, but his voice was certainly sharp.

 _Borgin,_ Marvolo hissed.

"Mr. Borgin," Harry said, trying to mimic Marvolo's characteristic disdain. "I am looking for the most recent appendices published for _Magicke Moste Evile_ , within a period of eleven years."

The old man's lip curled. "There is no such thing."

"Yes, there is," Harry said, leaving out the 'you lying little worm' that Marvolo added to the end of the sentence. "You cannot expect me to believe that no new compendia have been published."

"Get out-" the man began.

"Carassius," Harry said. "Eleanora the Profane. Desiderata. Should I try that one out, Borgin?" Harry had no idea what he was saying. He was just repeating whatever Marvolo was whispering in his skull, only belatedly realizing that his last few words were probably some sort of threat. Great. Now they really were going to be in trouble-

Borgin stopped dead, nostrils flaring. "Which family are you from, boy?" he said, his tone far more cautious.

"Does it matter?" Harry countered when Marvolo didn't immediately respond.

Borgin's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Harry's new clothing. Carefully, Harry inched his feet back so that his old trainers wouldn't poke past the hem of his robes.

With a flick of his wrist, a slim, leather-bound volume sailed through the air and into Borgin's fingers. "That will be eight Galleons."

"The binding's different," Harry said at Marvolo's whispered warning. "I'd like to inspect it, first."

"That won't be necessary," Borgin said, lowering the book with a trembling hand. He walked over to a dilapidated-looking shelf, tapping it with his wand and going through several rounds of elaborate motions. "Here," he said, extending a book with an eerily pale, leathery wrapping and some sort of eye-watering inscription on its surface. From Marvolo's satisfied hiss, Harry knew that this was the real deal.

"Here you are," Harry said, angling his money pouch away from Borgin so that he wouldn't be able to see how little he really had as he pulled out the Galleons.

 _Standard wards?_ Marvolo said urgently.

"Standard wards?" Harry asked belatedly.

"Of course, young master," Borgin said obsequiously. "Just tap it with your wand, lightly, mind-" Harry pulled out his wand and gave the cover a light tap, really, _really_ hoping that this would work. To his relief, the air above the cover seemed to shimmer before the book took on the appearance of a perfectly innocuous, small appointment book. "Now it will only reveal itself to your hand, young master. Any other who tries to touch it will receive-" Borgin's grin was unpleasant. "-a little surprise."

"Right," Harry said, nodding as if he knew what that meant. "Good."

_Do I say goodbye? Or do I just..._

_Just leave, Potter._ Marvolo was clearly bursting with impatience to get his hands - well, Harry's hands - on his new book.

Harry tucked the book into his Flourish and Blotts bag and left without another word. He could only hope that he wasn't making a huge mistake.

***

 _Listen,_ Harry said as he stared at the cover of _Modern Magical History_ , _I'm not going to *start* with the appendices to a book called Magicke Moste Evile. I barely even know what magic is._

 _The book is not for you,_ Marvolo said impatiently. _It is for *me.*_

 _Right, but I'm the one who's got to read it,_ Harry pointed out. _I got you the books you wanted. I'm going to read them. But there was nothing in our bargain that said what order I had to read them in._

 _I will use more precise language in the future,_ Marvolo growled.

_Then so will I._

There was a long silence while Marvolo considered this.

 _Very well,_ he said grudgingly. _The history books first. Then-_

 _Then my schoolbooks, so I can at least understand what I'm reading,_ Harry said promptly. _Then the Potions magazines. And *then*, Magicke Moste Evile. Volume 394._ Should he be concerned that wizards had published only one volume of a book called Modern Magical History, yet 394 volumes of what might have been the most obviously evil book in existence?

Nah. This was probably going to be his life, now. If he was going to hand Marvolo a tool like that, he wanted to make sure that he would be able to use it, too.

 _I sincerely hope,_ Marvolo snarled, _that you are a fast reader._

Harry suppressed a grin as he opened the book. This was going to be a month of many disappointments for the voice in his head.

It was an unpleasant surprise to discover that the book talked about *him.* And an even worse surprise to find out that his parents hadn't died in a car crash, after all, but had been murdered by yet another evil wizard. In fact, they'd been murdered right around the time Marvolo had said he'd been trapped.

 _I was a casualty of the wizarding war,_ Marvolo said. _Many strong wizards perished, unfortunately, in the chaos._

 _Were you one of them?_ Harry breathed. _Were you one of this...Voldemort's...followers?_ He was very aware of his heart beating rapidly.

 _NO,_ Marvolo thought forcefully. _I followed *no-one.* I was...in the wrong place, at the wrong time._

Harry had developed something of a sense for when Marvolo was outright lying. This - this sounded like it was the truth. So Marvolo had probably been an independent Dark Wizard during the war. He hadn't been important enough to show up in any history books, though. All of that 'greatest wizard' stuff was obviously a bunch of hokum.

Still, even though Harry would never tell Marvolo, he was secretly relieved. After all, in a sense, Marvolo was his first ever friend. He was glad that he wouldn't have to make the decision to shut him down because he'd indirectly caused the death of his parents, or something.

Harry picked up _Modern Magical History_ again, a smile on his face, and kept reading.


	3. Railroaded

"Oh, hello, Neville," Harry said as he slid open the train compartment door. "Would you mind - er, d'you think it'd be all right if I joined you?"

"Of course! Hi, Harry!" Neville said, beaming at him. With a grateful sigh of relief, Harry ducked into the compartment, grunting slightly with effort as he dragged his trunk behind him. Together, he and Neville managed to heave it up onto the luggage rack.

Neville's eyes widened. "Wow, Harry. What've you got in there?"

"Oh, just books and stuff," Harry said vaguely. He hadn't gotten around to _Magicke Moste Evile_ yet - the history books had been interesting, and he'd gone through those pretty quickly. It had helped that there were chapters on himself in both of them. He'd then been lured into false confidence by his schoolbooks, which - although somewhat dense at times - were pretty easy to understand. But then he'd opened up the first backissue of _Potions Monthly,_ and, well...

He hadn't even understood half the words in the first sentence, let alone the magazine's first paper.

 _You do not need to understand it, Potter,_ Marvolo had said impatiently. _Turn the page._

 _I will,_ he'd thought, struck by a sudden flash of cunning, _if you explain to me what it means as we go through it._

Marvolo scoffed. _Go buy a reference book, Potter._

 _This sentence is half a page long!_ Harry protested. _A reference book isn't going to help. Besides, I'm not going back there until I can defend myself better._ He deliberately sat back, crossing his arms.

 _You paranoid brat,_ Marvolo said, astonished. _Are you blackmailing me?_

 _Who do you think is going to have to brew the potions for your dark resurrection?_ Harry pointed out. _Right now, I'm not even sure if I could make a Boil Cure properly._

 _That won't be a problem,_ Marvolo said mysteriously.

Harry shrugged. _Right. Then you won't need me, then._ He reached out to flip the magazine closed.

Marvolo let out a disgusted hiss. _Fine. Open the journal. But you had better pay attention while I summarize._

Marvolo had turned out to be a pretty decent teacher, actually. Once you got past the occasional unhinged rant on the unfair persecution of dark magic, the steady stream of insults, and generally self-important tone, he actually explained the concepts in an easily understandable fashion, and answered Harry's questions thoroughly, if grudgingly. Harry wondered if he'd been a professor before he died.

Still, with Harry's extremely limited knowledge of Potionmaking, they had barely managed to make it halfway through the stack of journals before he'd had to depart for Hogwarts. The extra books - including _Magicke Moste Evile_ \- were currently locked firmly in his trunk, concealed by several Extension Charms and what the salesperson had assured him were very strong wards.

"Do you like reading a lot, then?"

With a jolt, Harry turned away from his suitcase. "Yeah," he said, settling down in the seat across from Neville. "Our subjects seem like they'll be pretty fun. I think Defense Against the Dark Arts sounds the neatest. Which one do you think you'll like the best?"

"I...I don't know." Neville wilted. "I'm not very good at magic. I...I like gardening..."

"Really?" Long hours spent pulling out weeds in Aunt Petunia's precious garden had rather soured Harry on the whole concept, but a lot of people seemed to think it was a pretty fun hobby. "So you're interested in Herbology, then?"

"Yes," Neville said, brightening briefly. His face soon fell again, though. "My gran says it won't matter, though, if I keep on being rubbish at spells..."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, genuinely puzzled. "Herbology's pretty essential to potionmaking. Libatius Borage says that proper ingredient-gathering is "absolutely vital" for your potion to not turn out rubbish. And I'm pretty sure nobody cared about how good _his_ spellwork was. Maybe you could be an expert potioneer, too. Or a famous plant breeder."

"I...I guess I could." Neville gave him a wide smile. "Thank you, Harry."

 _Nicely done,_ Marvolo said, sending him an image that evoked the sound of applause. _Your manipulation is most excellent. Are you practicing on him before your real targets?_

 _First of all, I'm not manipulating him,_ Harry thought indignantly. _I meant that. Neville's my friend._

_I am not sure whether to be impressed by your natural manipulative talents or appalled by your poor choice of allies._

_Oh, come on. What's wrong with Neville?_

_Everything,_ Marvolo said promptly. _Look at him. He's timid, unimposing, and has less self-confidence than the average garden gnome. He even admitted to you - within five minutes of having met you, mind - that his spellwork is so poor he was afraid he would be mistaken for a Muggle._

 _He's nice,_ Harry thought stubbornly.

Marvolo snorted, and seemed about to continue his tirade, but then the door of their compartment slid open again. A pale, pointy-faced boy with slicked-back blond hair, flanked on either side by two immensely large boys with vacant expressions, stood in the entryway.

_Ah. This must be the Malfoy boy._

Harry waited for a moment. _Well? Aren't you going to tell me if he's suitable or not, or insult his ancestry?_

 _Absolutely not,_ Marvolo said. _Whatever I tell you, you'll just turn around and do the exact opposite, anyway._

Harry had to admit that he was right.

"Longbottom," the boy - Malfoy - said. "Mind if we sit here? Pansy's being the most frightful bore right now, and all the other compartments are full of - well. _You_ know." Without waiting for an answer, he swept into the seat beside Neville, gesturing impatiently at his followers. The two boys grunted as they began to load several bags of luggage onto the racks. They reminded Harry unpleasantly of Dudley's gang.

"Make yourself at home, why don't you, Malfoy," Harry said sarcastically.

Malfoy peered at him with interest, seeming to notice him for the first time. "Do I know you?"

"Er," Harry said intelligently.

Malfoy shrugged, settling back and preening. "Well. Of course you know me. Everyone knows me."

"Right," Harry said. He was pretty sure what Marvolo's opinion of *this* boy would be. Malfoy surprised him by sticking his hand out, forcing him to dial back his assessment of the boy as being stuck-up.

"We might as well be formally introduced," he said. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"Harry," he said, shaking the boy's hand. He thought it would be best to delay the inevitable revelation of his fame for as long as possible. "Forgive me for asking, but - do you have _goons?_ "

Draco frowned slightly at Harry's omission of his last name, but the desire to talk about himself won out over his innate curiosity. "Our families have been connected for decades through clientage," he said, waving a hand airily. "It was only natural that they be assigned to me as bodyguards."

"That's too bad," Harry said regretfully. He wasn't aware of any connections that his family had or didn't have, but he was pretty sure that none of them would have entitled him to his own goons, anyways.

Draco eyed him, considering. "Do you have any special talents? Father says it's unseemly to go around with more than two goons. Especially if they don't co-ordinate well," he said critically. Harry winced, very aware of how scrawny ten years living in a cupboard had left him. Still, he was pretty sure he could spin it as some sort of wiry strength.

_You must be joking, Potter. You cannot seriously be telling me that your ambition in life is to become the Malfoy scion's thug._

_Well, no,_ Harry argued. _It's the principle of the thing. He thinks I wouldn't make a good goon. That's kind of insulting._ An aggrieved mental sigh was his only response.

"I was hoping it'd be more the other way around," Harry told Draco. "Hey, if I manage to get any goons of my own, I don't suppose you'd have any tips on how to train them up? You know, make sure they follow the goon conduct code and things like that?"

Draco eyed him appraisingly. "I suppose I may be persuaded to. In return for a favor, of course." His eyes slid over towards Neville, who was watching the proceedings with a slack-jawed, stunned look on his face. "Say, is Longbottom your goon?"

"No, Neville's my friend," Harry said immediately.

Neville looked instantly relieved and happy at the same time. "Thanks, Harry! Er...why do you want goons, anyways?"

Harry shrugged. "They could carry my books, and things. I've got a *lot* of books. They'd also look pretty cool." An idea struck him. "And they'd be dramatic. Very dramatic." He basked in the brief glow of Marvolo's approval.

"I suppose it's for the best," Draco said, leaning back into a deceptively casual position. "You're a halfblood, aren't you?"

Harry didn't need Marvolo's whispered _yes_ to know the answer. He'd scoured every single section of the two precious history books he'd bought for scraps of information on his parents. "Yes."

"It's funny," Draco continued thoughtfully, "because I haven't seen you around before. I'm quite sure I'd have remembered you. What did you say your family name was aga-" He broke off mid-sentence. Eyes widening, he scanned Harry's features, gears obviously turning in his head. Black hair - green eyes - named Harry -

"You!" he screeched, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. "You-you're Harry _Potter!_ "

"What?" Neville gasped, astonished and betrayed. The goons let out a single, surprised grunt.

Harry sighed, pushing back his bangs to reveal the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. The jig was obviously up. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want a reaction that was..." He looked between Draco's apoplectic face and Neville's wounded eyes. "...well, a reaction like this one."

Surprisingly, Neville nodded almost instantly. "I understand, Harry. I wouldn't want to be famous for something like that, either."

He smiled warmly at him. "Thanks, Neville."

"That's-that's..." Draco still seemed unable to speak.

Harry cautiously waved a hand in front of his face. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, of course!" Draco straightened up, face pink. "It's just that I had envisioned this encounter going very...differently."

"Sorry about that," Harry said automatically.

"It's no trouble," Draco said, apparently just as automatically. He opened his mouth to say something, then sighed, apparently changing his mind. "You're for Slytherin, then." It wasn't a question.

Harry shrugged. "I guess so, but Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff don't sound too bad either. What about you guys?"

"Oh, Crabbe, Goyle, and I will be in Slytherin, of course," Draco said, waving the question off. "The Malfoys have been Slytherin for generations."

"Must be nice," Harry said gloomily. "Suppose I'll be breaking tradition with my line. How about you, Neville?"

"Me? I-well, my parents were in Gryffindor, so..."

Hmm. Perhaps houses _were_ a familial thing. _Hogwarts, A History_ would probably have been pretty helpful after all, he thought resentfully.

"We'll be in different houses for sure, then, I guess," Harry said. "Maybe we can hang out after classes, or something?"

"That'd be nice," Neville said with a grin. Draco nodded regally in acknowledgment, while the goons grunted again. Harry hesitated - he hadn't really meant to include the goons in that invitation - but he supposed it was only polite.

 _Looks like we're off to a fine start,_ he told Marvolo.

 _I will reserve my judgment on that, Potter,_ Marvolo said dryly. He remained uncharacteristically quiet right up until Harry and his new friends reached the Great Hall.

***

Harry tapped his foot impatiently as he waited with the other new students, hair freshly flattened over his forehead. To his right, Neville gulped nervously. To his left, Draco appeared to have gotten involved in some sort of squabble with a redhead known only as 'Weasley', while a girl with a rather pug-like nose watched in apparent delight.

 _I will remain concealed in the shadows of your mind during the Sorting,_ Marvolo informed him. _Do not attempt to talk to me while the Hat is on your head._

 _What sort of Hat is it?_ Harry asked cautiously. It didn't sound as bad as some of the stuff Weasley had been saying - the thought of having to battle a troll made him briefly regret not reading _Magicke Moste Evile_ yet - but he wouldn't put it past wizards to make it some sort of psychotically malicious brain-eating hat, or something.

 _There is such a thing as being too dramatic, Potter,_ Marvolo snapped. _It is a talking hat that reads your mind._

 _Oh. That doesn't sound so bad._ A sense of foreboding filled him. _Wait, what happens if it finds *your* mind in there?_

 _Make sure it doesn't,_ Marvolo thought ominously.

It was Harry's turn to gulp nervously.

***

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle went to Slytherin, and Neville to Gryffindor, as predicted. Harry clapped dutifully for all of them, wondering if he was going to be Sorted into Gryffindor like his parents, too.

He realized he'd been waiting for Marvolo to chime in with some sort of irritated comment, and sighed. He would really have to concentrate so as not to give his presence away.

"Potter, Harry!" the stern woman at the front of the room called out. Harry grimaced at the sudden wave of whispers and muttering that filled the room, flattening his hair over his forehead again as he walked forward.

"Did you see his scar - did you see his eyes-"

It sounded like the wizarding world had even worse eyesight than he did. Then the woman placed the hat on his head, engulfing half his face, and he could no longer see anything at all.

 _Harry Potter,_ the hat said in a creaky sort of voice. _Well, well, well._

Harry sat very still and tried not to think of anything at all.

_What is it you want most in life, Harry?_

Harry gave it a moment's thought. _To be a great and powerful wizard, I guess. Oh, and immortality might be nice, too, if that's up for grabs,_ he added.

_Why?_

Harry considered his options. He could hardly tell the hat that it was because the evil voice in his head had told him it was a good idea-

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat bellowed. His eyesight returned as the tall witch pulled the hat off his head, looking rather shocked.

"Go on, Mr. Potter," she said, not unkindly. Unlike the sortings of the students that had gone before him, the hall was completely silent.

Draco began to clap. His goons immediately joined in, and the rest of the Slytherin table erupted in applause soon after. Harry was gratified to see that Neville was applauding, too. He flashed him a smile as he walked over to his new house table and slid onto the bench beside Draco.

"I wasn't sure the hat would sort me here," he admitted.

Draco scoffed, clapping him on the back. "Oh, come on, Harry. Anyone would know it within five minutes of talking to you."

"Draco!" the pug-faced girl cried shrilly. "You never told me you knew _Harry Potter_!"

"Please, Pansy," Draco said loftily. "Harry would appreciate his privacy, you know. It would have been rather insensitive of me to blabber about our relationship."

Their 'relationship' had been nonexistent just three hours ago, but Pansy looked duly chastened, and having a buffer between him and overeager fans was definitely worth the price.

Harry concentrated on introducing himself to his yearmates, and demolishing the vast quantities of amazing-looking food that appeared on the table as soon as the headmaster's speech was done. Once, out of curiosity, he looked up at the high table.

"That's Professor McGonagall," Draco informed him, and Harry jumped a little. He had indeed been looking at the elderly witch, whose gimlet gaze looked impressively intimidating. "She's the head of Gryffindor, so she's a tough old bat when it comes to us Slytherins."

"What about the rest?" Harry asked.

Draco obliged, pointing out each professor as he went down the line. "Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff. Surprised Longbottom didn't end up there, he'd fit right in. Filius Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw - they say he's half-goblin, but you wouldn't want to duel him anyway. Dumbledore, the headmaster, Father says he's senile. Oh," he said proudly. "That's my godfather. Head of Slytherin House, Professor Snape. Don't worry," he added as Harry eyed the scowling, sallow-faced man with trepidation. "He'll go easy on us, since nobody else will." Harry was suddenly quite glad that he'd ended up in Slytherin.

"Who's that next to him?" Harry asked, frowning at the twitching, purple-turbaned man beside Snape. He looked as if he couldn't decide whether to be more frightened of Snape - for which Harry wouldn't blame him - or his untouched plate of food, for which Harry certainly *would* blame him.

"Dunno," Draco said, pulling a face. "Probably our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, with the way Dumbledore's been hiring them. Father says the position's cursed."

Harry stared at him in dismay. He certainly didn't look qualified to do anything more than sit in a corner and whimper. He was distracted from his contemplation by a dark chuckle in his head.

 _You had something to do with the curse, didn't you,_ he thought glumly, disguising his expression by burying his face in his pumpkin juice. Marvolo's delighted cackle was all the confirmation he needed. _Great._

Harry consoled himself with the fact that the new professor might turn out to be so bad that he would actually be good. And besides, he always had _Magicke Moste Evile_ to fall back on. Fight fire with fire, right?

 _I like the way you think, Potter,_ Marvolo purred. Harry did his best to think about fluffy bunnies and rainbows for the rest of the feast.

***

Harry sighed gratefully as he collapsed into his four-poster bed, checking to make sure that his trunk was still safely locked and warded. He felt exhausted - probably because he'd never eaten that much in his life. A worrying thought struck him.

"Do you think we should review our books before class?" he asked Draco worriedly.

"Oh, Merlin," Blaise Zabini groaned, already ensconced in a pile of blankets. "Harry Potter's a _swot._ "

"Hey, knowledge is power!" he protested indignantly.

"At least we'll have one person who can beat Hufflepuff," Draco drawled, drawing a snicker out of Blaise. "Harry, there's no need to review for anything. Oh, except for Potions. But that won't be till later in the week, I'm sure. You can rest secure in the knowledge that you were probably sorted into the wrong house."

"You're all just jealous," Harry declared, drawing a few snickers of his own as he flopped dramatically onto his pillow, drawing the curtains shut. His new friends were right - he'd better get some rest. His first day at a magical school was probably going to be a big deal.

 _Happy plotting, Marvolo,_ he whispered to his evil mentor as he closed his eyes.

 _Sweet dreams, Potter,_ Marvolo said, cackling eerily as he did so. Harry smiled, letting his friend's insane laughter lull him gradually into sleep.


	4. Keeping It Classy

Harry's first few classes were less universally terrible than he'd expected. For the most part, that was.

Charms seemed interesting, but seemed to involve a lot of theory, as far as he could tell. He hoped they'd get to the actual spells from the textbook soon. If not, he couldn't see how he would be able to measure up to Marvolo once he was finally restored. He liked Marvolo - he really did - but, at the same time, he strongly suspected that failing to become immensely powerful *before* setting Marvolo free would be an immensely bad idea.

Transfiguration seemed interesting, although rather complicated. They were supposed to be turning matchsticks into needles, but by the end of the class, Harry had only managed to make his matchstick more pointy, while Draco's was slightly more silver.

Harry leaned in towards Draco. "Say, if we combine ours, we'd have something that looked kind of like a needle," he whispered.

Draco's eyebrows rose. "Oh, good idea. Let's switch."

After quickly checking to make sure McGonagall wasn't watching, they hastily switched their matchsticks and cast the spell again. Harry stared disbelievingly at his new matchstick, which had only turned a brighter shade of silver. Draco scowled as he lifted his new matchstick, which was now razor-sharp at the end. "This is _rubbish,_ " Draco hissed.

"At least yours would make a good weapon," Harry said glumly, poking his matchstick with the end of his wand. He tried to remember the principles of transfiguration he'd read about. It was easier to transfigure things into something that was very similar than something that was dissimilar, which would explain why he'd suddenly been able to adjust the matchstick's color. He squinted, concentrating hard, and tried again, scrutinizing his matchstick carefully. Was it his imagination, or did it look a little thinner?

Draco eyed him warily. "A weapon? Maybe if we had a hundred of them. Or if the stupid thing was actually a needle."

Harry was about to explain that it wouldn't matter how small it was if you just stabbed someone in the eye with it, but he was interrupted by a pleased exclamation from McGonagall. "Well done, Ms. Granger!" She plucked a small, silvery needle from the desk in front of a beaming, bushy-haired girl with rather unfortunate teeth. "Ten points to Gryffindor, for being the sole student to accomplish the transfiguration. For everyone else, one scroll of parchment describing why you believe your transfigurations were less successful, and what you will do to improve."

Harry eyed the girl thoughtfully, noting the space surrounding her. It didn't look as if she'd made any friends among the Gryffindors, despite managing to earn a decent amount of points for their house. When she left the room, nobody else went with her.

"Can you believe her?" Draco said indignantly once they were safely clear of the classroom. "Honestly, I'd say it's brilliant if it wasn't so bloody unfair. Why bother with actually teaching when you can just make your students do the work for you?"

"Or one student," Harry said thoughtfully. "It looks like that Granger girl got it. Why don't we ask her for help?"

"What?" Draco stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, aghast. "Harry, you can't ask _her_ for help!"

"Why not?" he asked, puzzled.

Draco gaped at him. "Oh, come on! Surely you recognize that she's not...well, _our_ sort?"

"Neville's a Gryffindor, and we're still friends with him," Harry said, still trying to figure out what Draco was getting at.

The other boy rolled his eyes. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, don't be deliberately obtuse. She's obviously a Mudblood, Harry."

Harry straightened up, eyes narrowing. He knew exactly what that word meant. Marvolo had tossed it around a lot. Until he'd discovered what it meant in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,_ of course. And that his mother had been one. A day or two of the silent treatment, and Marvolo had quickly gotten the message.

He hoped that Draco would be just as quick on the uptake.

"My mother was Muggleborn," he said slowly. "Are you calling her that name, too?"

Draco's eyes widened in alarm. "I-I didn't mean your mother, of course! I'm sure she was one of the good ones. The problem is jumpy little upstarts like Granger. They don't know their place in proper wizarding society-"

"I'm pretty sure my mother didn't know her place either," he said coldly. "Unless you're trying to tell me that her 'place' was getting killed by Lord Voldemort."

Draco flinched, shocked and horrified at once. Somewhere deep inside him, Marvolo stirred, once, then was silent again. "Harry, you can't just say his name!"

Harry snorted dismissively, then turned his back on Draco, walking away. "Harry, wait!" He heard the sound of footsteps rushing to catch up with him before Draco grabbed his sleeve. "Look, Harry, I'm sorry. I won't call Granger that again if you don't like it. It's just..." He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair in frustration. "Slytherin's really big on blood purity. It's one of the founding principles of our house. If you're caught associating with a Mu-a Muggleborn, you'll be a social pariah, or worse. The upper years can get *really* nasty about that sort of thing. It's really not worth it, Harry, trust me. I'm just trying to look out for you."

Harry _did_ feel a little guilty at Draco's obvious earnestness. It didn't quite cancel out the anger he felt at the insult, but Draco seemed keen to make up for it. "All right," he lied. "I'll keep that in mind."

"All right," Draco said, clearly immensely relieved. He seemed about to say something else, but stopped himself, settling for a nod instead. "I can show you some excellent books on wizarding genealogy later. You like reading, right?"

"Sure," Harry said.

Draco nodded, smiling. "Wonderful. That's all right, then."

It certainly was. Harry had been in Granger's shoes before, isolated and friendless at school. He hadn't been as studious as her, but that was okay.

He was pretty sure that he knew exactly where to find her.

***

Granger looked up from her book with a frown as he slid into the seat across from her, but her expression was soon replaced by an almost comical look of surprise. "It's you!"

"I'm Harry," he said, extending his hand politely. "Nice to meet you."

Granger eyed his hand hesitantly, as if she wasn't quite sure what to do at first, but then suddenly moved forward, shaking it vigorously. "I'm Hermione. I've read all about you - you're in _The Rise and Fall-_

"-of the Dark Arts, yes, and _Modern Magical History_ , too. Probably some other ones, I haven't checked," he said wearily. "Listen, can we get all this fame stuff out of the way beforehand? I'm not too keen on being famous for outliving my parents, if you know what I mean."

"Oh!" Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth guiltily, wincing at the loud shush that followed from the narrow-eyed librarian. "I'm sorry," she continued in a whisper. "I-I didn't think-"

"It's fine, don't worry about it," he said quickly, before she could get even more upset. At any rate, it was probably better to jump right into it. "You seem really good at Transfiguration."

"Thank you." Hermione's tone was a lot more cautious than he'd expected.

"I know we haven't had any Potions classes yet, but I've read ahead a lot, and I'm pretty sure I can help you out with it. Do you want to trade?" he suggested. "I help you with Potions, you help me with Transfiguration?"

"I don't need help with anything," Hermione said automatically.

"Well, you haven't tried it yet, so how do you know?" he asked, pretty sure it was a reasonable question.

"How would I know I will?" she countered. "Anyways, you could just have asked. I'd be happy to show you what to do for Transfiguration."

"Really?" He frowned, puzzled. "Don't you want anything in return? Not even a favor, or something?" A flash of inspiration struck him. "Maybe I could lend you a book?"

Hermione looked completely bewildered. "Well - I mean - I haven't read that one you mentioned, _Modern Magical History,_ but that's not really-"

"Great!" he said happily. "It's settled, then." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Okay, so now that that's out of the way - how did you do it?"

Hermione still looked a little frazzled - a lot of people did, dealing with him; he wondered why? Still, she recovered quickly. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it, if you think about the way Transfiguration works."

Harry bristled a little at her patronizing tone, but he knew she was just trying to help. Besides, she was nowhere near as relentlessly awful as Marvolo was, which was definitely a point in her favor. "Not really," he admitted. "I get that it's easier to Transfigure something into something that's similar. So I tried thinking of all the ways a matchstick is like a needle, but-" He pulled his failed attempt out to show her. "-it didn't really work that well."

"Well, you got half of it right," Hermione said, inspecting his matchstick. "But you can't just think about how they're the same, because you're trying to make the matchstick into something different. So you also have to think about how they're different from each other at the same time."

Harry gaped at her. "That...that sounds really complicated..."

"No, it's not," Hermione said briskly. "Matchsticks and needles are both thin, but the needle's point is thinner. See? That's how they're the same, but different. You've got to keep thinking about it like that."

That...made a lot of sense, actually. "Okay," he said, pulling out his wand. "They're both thin, but the needle's thinner - they're both hard, but the needle is harder-" To his astonishment, as he tapped the matchstick with his wand, it tapered to a thin point at the end. When he poked it experimentally, he felt cold metal against his finger rather than wood.

"Wow!" he said, grinning at Hermione. "Thanks! You're really good at this!" He frowned at his matchstick-needle again. "Although...it doesn't have a hole in it, and the matchstick head is still there..."

"Well, now you've got to think about how what you've got - this thing - and what you want - the needle - are the same but different."

"Brilliant," he said, and meant it. "How on earth did you figure that out? I read the textbook beforehand, but I would never have put those two ideas together like that."

"Oh, I read all my books until I memorized them," she said casually, and his jaw dropped again. If Marvolo had possessed _her_ instead of him, he'd probably already have taken over the world by now.

"Wow," he said again, not really sure what to say in response to that. "Um." He gestured at his half-needle. "I, er, guess I'll just keep practicing then."

Hermione nodded. "You might as well get started on your essay, too," she said bossily. "Do you want me to look it over for you when you're done?"

"Oh!" he said, startled. "Er, right. That's what I was just about to do." To be honest, he had intended to do the essay at a normal time - that was to say, the day before it was due - but he supposed it wouldn't be a terrible idea to start while he was still under Hermione's watchful eye. 

"Do you want me to look it over?" she repeated.

He shook his head. "It's okay. I think I can write it myself." At her slightly offended look, he hastened to add: "But if I think of any more questions, would it be all right if I ask you?" His yearmates seemed like the sort of people who were allergic to libraries. It would probably be better to just ask Hermione for help with his studies.

She beamed at him, mollified. "Of course! I'll just work on my own, then."

"Hang on," he said, frowning. "I thought McGonagall said you didn't have to write an essay? Since you got the Transfiguration right."

"Oh, but I _want_ to write it! It's important to understand the theory. I've got two scrolls down already, but I think I'll need at _least_ one more to get it right..."

Harry gaped at her, rapidly revising his estimate of Hermione. _Terrifying. Nice. But terrifying._

He put his head down, eager to finish before she could 'encourage' him to write more. When he was finally done, he quickly blew on the parchment to dry the ink before rolling the essay up and stuffing it in his bag. "Well, thanks again for the help, Hermione!" he said.

"You're welcome. Oh, look at the time!" She frowned. "I suppose I'd better head back to Gryffindor Tower. I hope I remember the way."

She looked so worried that Harry felt obliged to offer. "I can walk with you, if you'd like," he said. It was very unlikely that any of the younger Slytherins would be in the vicinity of Gryffindor Tower, and if any jerkish upper years saw him with Hermione, he was pretty sure he could lie his way out of it.

"Oh, would you?" She looked relieved. "Thank you, Harry. That's very kind of you."

"No problem," he said, shrugging. "What's the worst that could happen?"

***

Harry doubled over, gasping for breath, his hands on his knees.

"I'm pretty sure we didn't need to run so far, Harry," Hermione panted, equally winded. "I don't think he can really hang us up by our thumbs - it's against the rules, it's in _Hogwarts, A History-_ "

"I don't think he's read _Hogwarts, A History,_ Hermione. Besides," he said, thinking of Neville's great-uncle, "I don't think wizards think too much about doing that sort of thing."

"They wouldn't," she said, her voice wavering slightly.

"They definitely would," Harry argued. "Wizards are completely insane. I wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw them, if I were you."

"But it wasn't our fault we were there!" Hermione cried. "The staircase moved by itself, and we were lost! How were we supposed to know that we were outside the forbidden corridor? If we'd just had a chance to explain, instead of running-"

"Then he'd know our names," Harry pointed out. "If we just lay low for the next few weeks, we'll probably be off the hook. Literally."

"But we're still _lost,_ " Hermione said plaintively. "It'll be curfew soon. We need to find a teacher anyways, but we've got no idea where we are-"

Harry looked around, a sinking feeling in his stomach. _Oh, no._ They were near the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. Any minute, someone could come by. "Quick," he said urgently, "we've got to go, this way-"

"Harry!" an indignant voice shouted. The sinking feeling intensified as he turned around to face an incredulous Draco Malfoy, fortunately bereft of his constant companions. "I can't believe this! I told you not to associate with-"

"It's okay, Draco!" he said desperately, saying the first thing that popped into his head. "She's my goon!"

"WHAT?" Draco and Hermione both said, at the same time.

"It's okay, Hermione! You can admit it to Draco, he's my best friend," he said. Excellent - that had seemed to calm Draco down a little. Now the problem would be Hermione. "It'd really, _really_ help me if you could just agree. To tell Draco, that is."

Hermione still looked dumbstruck. Luckily, Draco's innate snobbery saved the day. "I suppose that's not a completely terrible choice of goon, for your first," he said grudgingly. "A bit unconventional, though. Say," he said, the flash of an idea playing across his features, "you'll pass on all the information you get to me, right? From one Slytherin to another?"

Huh. He couldn't actually tell whether Draco was blackmailing him or not. Still, it was a small price to pay for his silence. "Of course," he said, beaming brightly while frantically signaling Hermione behind his back. _Don't say anything, don't say anything..._

"Marvelous," Draco said, nodding imperiously. "Are you coming in? It'll be curfew soon, you know."

"Oh, I've got to make sure Hermione gets back to Gryffindor Tower first," he said hastily. "As a good, er, employer."

Draco eyed them dubiously. "I suppose that makes sense. Hurry up, will you?" He turned and disappeared back into the passageway.

"What was _that?_ " Hermione hissed at him furiously. "I am not your _goon!_ "

"I'm sorry," he said desperately. "It's just-" He floundered. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that all of Slytherin was really, inexplicably racist. He settled for half the truth. "Look, I don't know if you'd noticed it already, but some of the upper year Slytherins aren't really...nice. They'll go a lot easier on me if I just say I've got a goon, and this way they'll leave you alone too."

"Why wouldn't they leave me alone?" Hermione said, puzzled. "I'm not in their house."

"They're...they're just not very nice," Harry said lamely. "You'd really be doing me a huge favor, Hermione. I'd be in your debt."

Hermione looked uneasy. "I-I'm sorry, Harry, but I don't think I really want to be a goon..."

"Oh, you wouldn't *actually* be a goon," he said, relieved. If she was objecting to the terms rather than to him specifically, he was already halfway there. "You'd just have to _say_ you were my goon if any upper-years ask."

"What?" Hermione said, scandalized. "You mean...lie?!"

"Well, yeah," he said, puzzled. "What's wrong with that?"

It was Hermione's turn to look at him as if he'd grown a second head. Eventually, she sighed. "Harry, that's..." She shook her head. "Never mind. Fine. I can pretend to be your 'goon.'"

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "Really, Hermione, you've probably saved my life. Name your price. Anything you want."

"I don't want anything from you, Harry," Hermione said, sounding somewhat sad, although he couldn't quite figure out why. "I'm doing it because that's what friends do."

His eyes widened. Maybe he should have gone to Gryffindor after all. The people there seemed much friendlier than his fellow Slytherins. "That's really nice of you," he said honestly. "I'm sorry about this whole thing. As soon as I can fight back decently against the upper-years, I promise you I'll drop the goon stuff." He paused. That didn't seem quite enough, considering how awful it was for Hermione to get treated like a thug just because of social status considerations. It seemed pretty similar to what Dudley had done to him all of last year, actually, which tied an uncomfortable knot in the pit of his stomach. "And," he added, suddenly inspired, "once I become powerful enough, I can wreak foul and grossly disproportionate destruction upon your enemies for you! That'd probably make up for it, right?" he asked anxiously.

"Ye-e-es," Hermione said slowly. "Definitely. Oh, look! I think I see a prefect! I can ask them for directions, I'll make it back on my own. Bye, Harry!"

"I don't see anyone-" Harry started to say, but she had already sped off.

_I think that went well,_ he whispered to Marvolo.

_I really cannot tell what sort of effect you are going for sometimes, Potter,_ Marvolo said thoughtfully.

_I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose,_ he said, sending Marvolo a mental shrug as he stepped back through the passageway.

Faint praise from Marvolo, progress on Transfiguration, yet another new friend, and only one near-death experience! So far, things at Hogwarts were looking quite rosy.

His good mood didn't last for long, however.

***

"Oh, no," Harry whispered, staring at the elegantly written letter in his hands with horror. "It was an accident - I didn't mean to-"

"Don't tell me you actually tested your thousand-matchstick-weapon idea on someone, Harry," Draco said, eyeing him warily.

"Nah, I think it'd take far too much effort and prep work to really be practical in battle," Harry said automatically, but his sadness at the failure of *that* particular genius plan was outshadowed by the immediate threat that was at hand. "I-I don't understand, though! How could he possibly _know?_ "

"Know what?" Pansy had probably intended that to come out as a whisper, but being forced to compete against the volume of hundreds of other students eating breakfast wasn't exactly the best for subtlety.

"No idea, but he's probably done _something_ , knowing him," Draco said resignedly. "Just give that here, if you're going to fuss over it." His frown grew more and more puzzled as he scanned the contents of the letter. "Harry, what are you going on about? This is just an invitation for a welcoming chat with the Headmaster."

"Does everyone get those?" Harry said hopefully.

Draco snorted. "Obviously not. You're the Boy-Who-Lived, though. Stands to sense *you'd* get one. Wonder if you can get any special privileges out of Dumbledore?" Harry groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

"Let me see," Pansy said, snatching the letter from Draco. "Hmm. No veiled threats or hidden messages, as far as I can tell. Maybe it would help," she said cunningly, "if we knew what you were so worried about?"

Harry leaned in closer, eyes darting around to make sure nobody else was paying attention. He needn't have worried - everyone else around them was distracted by the ongoing contest between Blaise and Daphne Greengrass over who had better hair. "Okay," he whispered. "So I was walking back to the dungeons last night when a staircase moved, and I ended up outside the forbidden corridor. I didn't recognize it, and when the caretaker caught us, he must have thought we were trying to break in. He said he was going to stretch us on a rack - hang us up using thumbscrews-"

"'Us?'" Pansy said shrewdly.

Luckily, Draco saved him once again. "Oh, _Filch,_ " he said, sneering. "Don't concern yourself with him. That filthy Squib doesn't have the authority to lay hands on a real wizard."

The term wasn't familiar to Harry, but he wasn't about to let Draco know how embarrassingly out of his depth he was. "He's a Squib?" he said, feigning shock.

"Oh, yes," Draco said, lip curling with disgust. "Hasn't got a drop of magic in him. Even Dumbledore wouldn't stoop so low as to allow him to punish you."

"Huh," Harry said thoughtfully, rather relieved. "No magic. So he's basically a Muggle, then."

Draco's smirk was incredibly unpleasant. "Ha! Exactly. He should never have been allowed to set foot in Hogwarts."

Harry rather agreed with that sentiment, but he suspected that it was for vastly different reasons. He would have to look up what the term meant before he accidentally said something wrong about Squibs.

"I think it's highly unlikely that the Headmaster knows anything about it, Harry," Pansy said breezily. "This is a very standard invitation letter. I can help you draft a formal response as a favor, if you'd like."

"Yes, please," he said, smiling gratefully at Pansy. His yearmates really were talented at inadvertent subject changes. With Pansy's help, he managed to craft a more-or-less acceptable response letter. She even allowed him to borrow her owl to send his reply to the Headmaster.

_You seem rather willing to indebt yourself to your peers,_ Marvolo said darkly. He might even have been a tad bit jealous.

_Oh, don't worry,_ Harry assured his friend. _I know exactly what to get her in return._

***

In Herbology, Draco moved to pair up with Harry, as had been the default arrangement for their first day.

"Oh, look!" Harry said, feigning obliviousness. "Neville doesn't seem to have a partner! I'll go pair up with him - give us a chance to chat."

"And what about my partner?" Draco said imperiously.

"Pansy doesn't have a partner, either," he said, winking at her. She grinned at him, giving him a subtle nod, then latched onto Draco. The latter shot him a withering glare.

_He'll get over it._ Harry waved at Neville, jogging over to him. "Hey, Neville! How are your classes going?"

"Not so well," the other boy said glumly. "I told you I wasn't very good at magic."

"Pretty much everyone's pants at Transfiguration, as far as I can tell," Harry said consolingly. "Hey, you should ask Hermione Granger for help! She's really nice."

"Do you think so?" Neville said uncertainly. "Maybe I will. Are-are you sure you want to pair up with me, Harry? I don't want to drag your mark down-"

"What are you talking about?" Harry frowned at him. "You're the Herbology ace here. I'm rather hoping you won't mind pairing up with me, in case I drag *you* down."

"No, I don't think that at all!" Neville looked a little less anxious than he'd been before, and Harry smiled internally.

His choice had been a good one. Neville wasn't very confident, but he really knew his stuff. By the end of the class, their plant cutting was one of the best in the entire greenhouse, earning Harry and Neville five points each for their respective houses. He made plans to hang out with Neville sometime over the weekend, and left Professor Sprout's classroom in high spirits.

It was a good thing that the morning had gone well, because the rest of the day went rapidly downhill from there.

***

Harry had barely taken a seat at an unoccupied desk in Defense Against the Dark Arts before he winced, hands flying to his temples in sudden pain.

That was because Marvolo had begun, quite uncharacteristically, to scream in panic.

_GET DOWN NOW DON'T LOOK AHEAD DON'T MEET HIS EYES DON'T LOOK AHEAD-_

Heart thudding rapidly, Harry stared fixedly at the surface of his desk. Should he run? Should he try and hide?

_Marvolo, what's wrong?_ he thought frantically. _What's going on? What do I-_

_Potter, listen to me very carefully,_ Marvolo hissed. _Whatever you do, you must never meet that man's eyes. Do you understand me?_

_Okay,_ Harry thought quickly, frightened. _But why-_

Marvolo's reply was slow and hesitant. _I...knew him, when I was alive. He is extremely powerful, dangerous, and quick to anger._

_So much like you, then,_ Harry thought, unable to help himself.

_Yes._ Marvolo's mental voice was flat. _Exactly like me. At any rate, it has been...a long time since we last met. I am not sure whether he would be an ally, or my most dangerous foe._

That sounded slightly less terrifying, but it still didn't explain Marvolo's panic. _What happened, though?_ he asked urgently. _You sounded sca-_

_I was having something of an existential crisis,_ Marvolo snapped. _I was forced to rapidly re-evaluate nearly a year's worth of plotting, which was rather disconcerting, so you will excuse me for wanting to avoid a second crisis of existence, which *will* happen if you meet his eyes before you are prepared._

He suspected that it would be unwise to push the high-strung Marvolo on the subject. _Not that I'm going to do it,_ he said hesitantly, _but I was just wondering what exactly would happen if I were to look him in the eye?_

_Death, destruction, and eternal torment,_ Marvolo said promptly. _If you're lucky._

Harry swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry, and stared even more resolutely at his desk.

"I'll never get the smell of garlic out of my clothing," Blaise moaned as they filed into the hall after class, fussing with his robes.

"What a complete disaster," Draco said disgustedly. "I couldn't even understand him half the time, with that ridiculous stutter. What a pathetic, stumbling wreck! I'm going to write to Father about this. Don't you agree, Harry?"

"Yep," Harry said faintly, trying to fight down the rising tide of nausea within him. "Mm. Absolutely." Should he tell his friends about Quirrell? Would the knowledge only put them in danger? How would he explain where he had got it from?

"Perhaps," Draco said, "you could bring it up in your meeting with the Headmaster today. I'm sure other people must have complained, too."

Oh, right. That was today.

Harry wondered if the Headmaster would reconsider his anti-torture stance if Harry were to throw up all over his sparkly shoes.

***

_Don't meet his eyes either, Harry,_ Marvolo warned as Harry splashed water on his face, desperately trying to flatten his hair before his meeting. _The consequences would be much the same as if you were to meet Quirrell's eyes._

_Is there anyone in this school who *isn't* a world-ending existential threat?_ Harry demanded.

_Not many,_ Marvolo admitted. _Dumbledore was the most feared Light wizard of his time. Still, he adheres to irritating moral principles. He will not harm you if he does not expect that you harbor a dark presence within your mind._

_And if he expects I do?_ Harry thought nervously.

_I think you already know the answer to that._ Marvolo sighed at his obvious fright. _Look, Potter, you'll be fine,_ he said impatiently. _Just don't be yourself. Easy._

That really didn't make Harry feel any better about the meeting.

***

"Ah, Harry! Do come in!"

Luckily, it wasn't very difficult to not meet Dumbledore's eyes. His office was full of so many weird and wonderful gadgets that it was impossible to not want to look at those, instead. "Thank you, sir," he said, staring curiously at a delicate-looking gold device on the Headmaster's desk as he sat down.

"How are you enjoying Hogwarts, Harry?" the Headmaster said politely.

"Oh, it's wonderful, sir," Harry said honestly, addressing Dumbledore's rather magnificent beard. "There's so many cool things to learn and see. And I've already made quite a few friends."

That seemed to please Dumbledore immensely. "Excellent! Friendship is perhaps one of the most valuable things you will find within these halls, Harry."

"Yes, sir," he said, for lack of anything better to say in response.

"Now, Harry, I'm afraid I must ask you somewhat of a delicate question," the Headmaster said, and Harry's heart sank. "How exactly did you cover the funds for your schoolbooks?"

"Oh, I didn't," Harry said, rather relieved at the question. "Aunt Petunia did." A horrifying thought occurred to him. Uncle Vernon was always going on and on about how Smeltings' tuition fees were high enough to ensure quality. "I haven't paid tuition," he breathed. "How...how much is..."

Dumbledore chuckled heartily. "No, no, please do not worry! Tuition is free for all students within these halls."

"Oh, good," he said, breathing out. "It's only...I don't think my aunt and uncle can afford to pay more, and I don't really have any money-"

"Quite the opposite, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly. "Actually, that is what I had hoped to discuss with you today."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I really don't have any money," he said apologetically. "My aunt and uncle said my parents didn't really have jobs, and that it was really expensive to raise me-"

Slowly, he watched Dumbledore's smile fade. "I...am very sorry to hear that, Harry. It is true that your parents did not have formal employment. However, that is because they made the brave choice to put their lives on hold to fight against the rising darkness in our country. They ended up losing their lives to that darkness."

"I know," Harry said, horrified to realize that he was actually choking up a little. "I-I read about it, in a history book..."

"I see," Dumbledore said gravely. "Harry, your parents loved you very much. They made sure that they set aside a vault in trust for you, in addition to the main Potter family vaults. I have kept that vault as its guarantor for the past ten years in their stead." He extended his hand towards Harry, dropping a small object into his palm. It was a small key with a number engraved on it. "I am returning that key to you now, with my apologies for being remiss in informing you of its existence."

He frowned at the key, turning it over in his hand. He wondered if it would be enough to cover his schoolthings from now on. "Sir, if I may ask," he said hesitantly. "How much is in the vault?"

Dumbledore told him. He nearly fell out of his chair in shock.

"Wow," he said. "That's, uh. That's. Maybe I'm understanding it wrong-"

"Your father had a lot of familial wealth, Harry," Dumbledore said patiently. "Understand that only a small fraction of that money is available to you until you come of age. If you wish, I can help you with setting up a mailing order with Gringotts bank so that you can access your trust vault for any supplies or items that you may need."

Harry's head was still spinning. "Uh. I-I wouldn't want to inconvenience you, I'm sure you're very busy-"

"It is my responsibility as your guardian to help you, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "I am so, so sorry that I have not been there to help you understand these things while you were growing up. I hope you will forgive an old, forgetful man for his failures."

He really did sound genuinely sad. "If you could show me how to get things set up, that would be great," he said cautiously. "I suppose I could get a couple more books. And an owl," he added as an afterthought. If he was going to be buying any more illegal materials for Marvolo, he certainly wasn't going to use a school owl for it.

Dumbledore chuckled. "It would be my pleasure, Harry. Although I would hold off on buying the owl for a few days, yet. You never know what opportunities may come to you unbidden." And with those mysterious parting words, his meeting soon ended anticlimatically.

_Well, this is good news,_ he thought cautiously to Marvolo on his way back. _We can get more books and stuff._

_Finish the ones you have first, Potter,_ Marvolo said gloomily. _If tomorrow does not go well, we may be here for much longer than I had originally thought._

Harry pulled out his schedule, excited to note that Potions would be his next class. With Defense Against the Dark Arts being such a wash, it stood a strong chance of being named his next favorite class.

He just hoped that Professor Snape really would go easy on him.


	5. Brewing Trouble

_Maybe we should tell Dumbledore about Quirrell,_ Harry thought, worried.

 _Potter, are you crazy?_ Marvolo snapped. _Actually, never mind. No need to answer that._

 _No, wait, hear me out,_ he protested. _We don't have to tell him in person. We could just send him an anonymous note._

 _Oh, what a brilliant plan, Potter,_ Marvolo said, voice dripping with sarcasm. _I'm certain that there is no magical way to tell that it was you *at all.*_

Marvolo's obliviousness to sarcasm only went one way, apparently. _Even if we just cut letters out of Draco's Daily Prophet and paste a message out of them?_ he thought hopefully. _Quirrell extremely evil, please exterminate?_

A long-suffering sigh escaped from the voice in his head. _First off, we have no idea whether Quirrell's goals align with ours or not. Second, what makes you think that Dumbledore does not already know about him?_

 _I thought you said he was a champion of the Light,_ Harry said, bewildered. _Wouldn't he have already have smited him already?_

 _Smote,_ Marvolo corrected him snobbishly. _Besides, I think you will find that Dumbledore has many ulterior motives for what he does. Consider him to be plotting just as thoroughly as I am._

Impressive, Harry thought, although he kept that particular assessment to himself. Somehow, he didn't think Marvolo would appreciate it.

 _Aha!_ Marvolo said triumphantly as the door to the Potions classroom creaked slowly open. _Come into my lair, said the spider to the fly._

 _I'm the spider?_ Harry said hopefully.

Marvolo snorted derisively. _Don't be stupid, Potter._

Mournfully, the hapless fly joined the rest of his yearmates as they filed into the classroom.

***

Looking back, there had been multiple clues that Potions class wasn't going to go exactly as he'd hoped it would.

The first was when Professor Snape looked him up and down during roll call, sneered, and announced him as Hogwarts' new celebrity. That certainly hadn't felt great.

The second was when, immediately afterward, he rounded on Harry and barked several pop quiz questions at him.

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry perked up. He knew this one - he'd thought it sounded like the sort of stuff that might come in handy, one day. "A Draught of Living Death, sir," he said promptly.

For some reason, Professor Snape's scowl only deepened. "Hmm. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry knew that one pretty well, too. He'd figured it would be good to have some insurance if his first friend tried to poison him one day. "The stomach of a goat, sir," he said, allowing himself to relax a little.

Professor Snape, who had been staring at him unblinkingly since the quiz began, looked a little rattled, though he couldn't quite figure out why. Maybe he was also a fan of untraceable poisons? The man's look quickly intensified into a glare. "Do not expect that memorizing your Potions book before class will make you an expert Potioneer, Potter," he snapped. "Let us see if you have any other basic knowledge beyond the first two chapters of your textbook. What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Oh no.

Harry knew that Herbology was an important part of Potions. But with all the backbreaking gardening work he'd been stuck with when he was younger, he just hadn't been able to muster the same interest in it as he'd had in Potions. Frantically, he raced through what he knew about the two plants in his head. Depending on whose work you read, they seemed to be used in the same Potions, for pretty much the same purpose. And for the same reasons and properties, as far as he could tell.

"I can't think of one, sir," he admitted, looking down at his desk.

"That is because they are the same plant," Professor Snape said grudgingly. "Also known as aconite. Five points to Slytherin for bothering to crack open a book before you came to class." He rounded on the rest of the room, glaring. "Well? Why aren't the rest of you writing this down?"

 _Oh, he *really* hates you,_ Marvolo thought smugly. _Excellent._

 _Why on earth are you happy about this?_ Harry thought back, horrified.

 _Anyone who hates you will probably make an excellent ally on general principle,_ Marvolo said.

 _You do realize that *I'm* the one who's going to have to recruit him to your malevolent cause, right?_ Harry thought darkly. A dismissive cackle was his only answer.

_Oh, he *will* follow me. Again._

_What do you mean, again? Wait. He wasn't in your dark and eternal legion, was he?_ Harry thought, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

 _One of my best lieutenants,_ Marvolo said with immense satisfaction. _He is quite a fan of untraceable poisons, by the way. You could always try bonding over that._

 _Great,_ Harry thought dully.

 _Traceable ones, too,_ Marvolo continued with great glee. _Ooh, did I tell you about this one time he melted half a rival's arm off with some sort of fiendish new contact poison? Made of completely innocuous ingredients, like pixie tears. Severus was always so clever at that sort of thing. You should have seen the way his skin sloughed right away-_

Harry did his best to ignore Marvolo's fond reminiscing. Unfortunately, there was an upper limit to how many times he could hear someone wax lyrical about 'gaping abscesses' and 'ritual bone etching' before he kind of had to start paying attention. Harry passed that threshold sometime in the first five minutes.

Luckily, Boil Cures were a lot less complicated than the other potions he and Marvolo had studied.

Theodore Nott, although obedient enough, seemed rather disinterested in the whole process. It was left to Harry to carefully ladle some of their potion into a flask and bring it to the front of the room. Exceedingly careful not to touch anything, he set down the labelled bottle on Professor Snape's desk and turned to flee.

"Potter," Snape snapped, and Harry's heart leapt into his chest.

 _Say, did he ever complete that Flesh-Eating Concoction he was working on?_ Marvolo urged him eagerly.

 _Not now,_ Harry hissed as he turned around.

"Yes, Professor Snape?" he said warily.

Snape had picked up their potion bottle and was scowling at it intently. "The consistency of this Boil Cure is like sludge, Potter. You crushed the horned slugs before you added them." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, Professor," he said. "It's so that the potion becomes more gel-like, for topical application-"

"I know what it does," Snape said coldly. "You do realize that, rather than slather it all over the afflicted regions, most people would prefer to simply drink the potion once and get it over with."

"But this way they'd avoid the mild nausea from drinking the potion."

Snape grunted, mouth twisting. "And where did you get the idea to do this, Potter?"

Well, there was nothing for it. "Niles Nielsen said in an article that mashing ingredients used to smooth potions would make them thicker, so I figured-"

"Niles Nielsen is a talentless hack whose idiocy is matched only by his greed for publications," Snape snarled.

Harry flinched a little, despite himself. "But...but it worked, didn't it..."

"It half-worked." Snape thrust the vial at him. "Sludge, Potter. This is not a gel. This is a slightly runny sludge that would be a disaster to apply. Nielsen was probably in such a rush to take credit for his students' findings that he neglected to perform even the most basic temperature tests to improve his article. Suggest some."

The man's scowl was deepening progressively with every second, so Harry took a tentative guess. "Heating makes the potion more smooth, so maybe if you chilled the potion...or the slugs...it might become thicker?"

"Are you asking me, or telling me, Potter?"

"Telling, sir?" Harry said, hedging his bets.

Snape snorted. "Even an eleven-year old could see it. Pathetic. For your information, Potter, both would do. Chill the mashed slugs before adding, then chill the potion after adding the quills until it reaches the desired consistency."

"Yes, sir," he said, frantically trying to commit his instructions to memory. He realized that Snape was still scowling at his and Theo's potion. "Does...does that mean we failed?" he said worriedly. Theo seemed pretty apathetic, but he was sure that even he would take offense if Harry had managed to tank their marks in their very first class.

"Would you use this, Potter?"

"Er," Harry said, staring dolefully at his sludge. "I mean...if I had a sensitive stomach, or only one boil to treat, or something. Maybe if we had something to test it on?"

Snape's glare was suddenly replaced by a look of malicious glee. In short, he looked much like the way Marvolo sounded most of the time. _"Furnunculus,"_ he droned, tapping Harry's finger with his wand. Harry yelped as a giant, pus-filled boil erupted on his skin. "Well?" Snape said impatiently.

Harry fumbled with his vial, nearly dropping it in his haste. He scooped out a large glob of the sludge onto the boil, sighing in relief as it instantly began to flatten. Within a few seconds, it was gone. "Oh good, it works," he said. "That's a relief-"

He yelped again as Snape recast the jinx on yet another finger. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Two drops, under the tongue," Snape said in a bored tone, sliding a vial labeled with Draco and Blaise's names across his desk. This time, the boil took longer to recede, but it was completely gone within a minute.

"The topical salve will work faster, but not so much so that it outweighs the benefits of a liquid potion. And two drops are hardly enough to induce nausea," Snape lectured.

Harry wilted. "Sorry, sir."

Snape leaned back, sneering. "The potion is acceptable. I do not discourage experimentation, especially when it allows me to jinx dunderheaded children. In fact, I encourage you to try something nastier next time. Make my day."

Harry didn't know whether to thank him or to run away screaming. He settled on some good old flattery instead. "You know a lot about potions, sir."

The sneer widened. "Obviously."

Harry soldiered on. "Why haven't you written up any of your ideas for _Potions Monthly?_ I bet they'd be much better than Niels Nielsen's, at least-"

Snape snorted. "That's a low bar. Get out, Potter. Your time would be better used with remedial work on your social skills."

Harry was only too glad to turn and flee.

 _That was awful,_ he thought miserably as he walked towards the Great Hall.

 _Yes, it was,_ Marvolo agreed. _This is unbelievable. He actually *likes* you. That wasn't supposed to happen!_

_Wait, what? I'm sorry, did you miss the part where he said it would be his pleasure to curse me repeatedly? And the part where he actually did? And the part where-_

_Did he *really* curse you? Did he rupture your chest cavity, harvest your eyeballs, or 'accidentally' eviscerate you?_

_No,_ Harry admitted. He was certainly feeling nauseous *now.* _But he probably can't actually do that in a classroom, there would be witnesses-_

 _He answered your questions,_ Marvolo said incredulously, making it sound like a particularly grievous crime. _He gave you house points. He didn't even insult you that much, for Merlin's sake. Unacceptable. Either he has gone soft, in which case he is useless, or he has turned on me, in which case he will make a dangerous enemy. Come to think of it, it's probably best if you don't meet his eyes, either._

 _It's too late,_ Harry thought, horrified. _I was looking him in the eye all through Potions class._

Marvolo waved this off. _Your thoughts were so irritatingly banal that he was barely occupied for more than a few seconds at a time. Still,_ he said darkly, _I now have one fewer ally and two more enemies than I expected. The situation is undesirable._

 _So that leaves us with how many allies, exactly?_ Harry asked hopefully.

_None._

_Oh._

There was a long pause before Marvolo spoke again. _That may not be entirely accurate,_ he said reluctantly. _There are resources in this castle that I can sway to my bidding, given time and preparation. And I may at least have one loyal servant remaining._

 _Who is it?_ Harry asked eagerly.

 _Well, it's not precisely a 'who',_ Marvolo said thoughtfully. _More of a 'what.' To be honest, I'm not even sure it has a name. Never bothered asking._

Harry's nose wrinkled. _How can you not know your servant's name? Isn't that kind of inefficient?_

 _Not really, as it turned out._ Marvolo paused for a few minutes to cackle, and Harry waited patiently for him to finish. _Potter,_ he said casually. _Have you ever heard of the Chamber of Secrets?_


	6. Remedial Social Skills

Marvolo's plans for world domination, exciting as they were, could wait for a couple of hours. Harry had more pressing things to worry about. Specifically, the fact that he now knew people who were actually interested in hanging out with him, for the first time in his life.

He wrapped up a few choice pastries in a napkin after dinner, prompting an odd look from Blaise. "You can't possibly eat all of those by yourself, Harry."

"Oh, they're not for me," he assured the other boy. "They're for Neville. I was going to visit him in the hospital wing."

"Capital idea, Harry," Draco said, barely looking up from his plate. "Give him my greetings."

"Er, sure," Harry said.

"No offense to your friend, Harry," Blaise said, wrinkling his nose, "but if there's one thing Longbottom doesn't need, it's more pastries."

"Well, I can't very well wrap carrots up in a napkin and take them to him, can I," Harry argued. "That's not likely to make him feel much better." Blaise conceded the point with a shrug. Nobody else seemed inclined to accompany him, so Harry excused himself early and headed off. He hesitated briefly as he realized that he didn't know the way to the hospital wing, but was saved by a bored hiss in his ear.

_Take the next right, then up the second staircase on your left._

_Thanks, Marvolo,_ Harry thought, rather puzzled. Marvolo usually didn't do anything for free. _Why are you helping me?_ he asked cautiously.

Marvolo snorted. _The sooner you finish cooing over your pathetic minion, the sooner we can get to *mine*, which is vastly superior in every way. It should at least act as a guideline for you in choosing appropriate servants._

_Marvolo, for the last time, this is a friendship thing,_ he thought wearily. _I don't have any minions. Yet,_ he added belatedly. He actually thought it might be pretty cool to have some - not that he would ever admit it to his friend, though.

_Friendship is weak,_ Marvolo said dismissively. _People betray their friends all the time. Now, fear - that will hold them to you. Take those wretched Muggles, for example. That worked out so well for you, didn't it?_

_I'd rather it hadn't,_ Harry thought, unable to stop himself.

_Don't be stupid, Potter. Mark my words. As soon as they lose their fear of you, you will regret the consequences immensely._

_Oh, look!_ Harry thought, determinedly ignoring his ominous words. _We're here!_

_Don't say I didn't warn you, Potter,_ Marvolo hissed before retreating once more.

He spotted Neville almost immediately, slumped forlornly in a bed near the door. "Hi, Neville!" he said, watching the other boy's head jerk up. "I brought you some stuff from dinner! And Draco says hi, by the way."

"W-wow," the other boy stammered, looking almost painfully grateful. "Thanks, Harry."

"Hey, what are friends for?" Harry said cheerfully, handing over the wrapped pastries. "How are you doing, Neville? That Potions accident looked pretty nasty."

"Oh, I'm much better now," Neville said quickly, although he was still holding one arm rather gingerly as he unwrapped the bundle Harry had brought. "Though Madam Pomfrey said I should stay around a bit longer, in case I get some sort of bad reaction to the potion." His face fell into misery once more. "I told you I wasn't any good at things, Harry. I hope Seamus isn't too mad at me."

"Well, he didn't catch the porcupine quills either, did he?" Harry pointed out. "So he's got no reason to be mad at you. Anyways, *you're* the one that got hurt."

Neville hung his head. "I-I just got so nervous, with Snape glaring at me like that. I couldn't remember a word of the recipe. It was so awful..."

Harry winced internally. That was a serious problem. One accident was probably forgivable, but if he kept messing up, both his housemates and Snape would probably rip him to pieces. "Why don't you ask Hermione for help?" he suggested, struck by a sudden flash of inspiration. "She's doing really well in all her classes, and she's really nice. I'm sure she'd help you out as a fellow Gryffindor."

"I don't think the others like me very much," Neville said quietly. "You're the only one who came to visit me."

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. He wasn't really sure what to say to that. "Er. Sorry," he said awkwardly. "I'm sure they'll come along. Or, er, they're probably waiting for you back in the dorm or something..."

"It's okay, Harry," Neville said sadly. "You don't need to say that."

Harry cast around desperately for something else to comfort his friend. _Marvolo, any suggestions?_ he thought.

_Tell him to channel his weakness into strength,_ Marvolo said in a bored tone. _A Venomous Tentacula or two ought to whip the other boys into shape. From there, perhaps some dosing with deadly nightshade-_

_Not helping,_ Harry hissed. _Honestly, I don't know why I even *asked* you._

_Me, neither,_ Marvolo said dryly.

"Oi, Neville!"

With a start, both Harry and Neville turned around to see Seamus Finnigan and Draco's rival - Weasley - approaching them. Seamus gave Harry a tentative wave, which he returned. Weasley only squinted at him suspiciously.

"How're you doing, Neville?" Weasley said, ignoring Harry.

"Much better, thanks, Ron!" Neville said, perking up. "Seamus, Ron, this is Harry. Harry, this is-"

"I know who he is," Ron said, eyes narrowed. "He's that git Malfoy's best buddy. What is _he_ doing here?"

"I came to visit Neville," Harry said, not much liking Ron's tone. "*I* brought him pastries, by the way. I see *you* didn't bring anything."

"All right, all right, this isn't a contest," Seamus said soothingly. "Nice to meet you, Harry."

"Nice to meet _you_ , too," Harry said, pointedly ignoring Ron back. "Anyways, I'm glad to hear you're feeling better, Neville! I should probably head back to the dorms."

"Okay," Neville said, smiling at him. "See you, Harry!"

"Bye, Harry!" Seamus said, waving.

"I'm watching you," Ron said, eyes narrowed.

"Whatever," Harry said, rolling his eyes. No wonder Draco didn't like him.

"Fancy a game of Exploding Snap?" he heard Ron saying behind him in a far more cheerful voice as he left the hospital wing. _Damn,_ he thought mournfully. _I should have brought games instead. Is that a better sort of friendship thing?_

Marvolo was pointedly silent.

_I'll bring both next time,_ Harry thought, shrugging. _All right, Marvolo. Where's this loyal servant of yours?_

_At last,_ Marvolo hissed impatiently. _Listen carefully, Potter. In the girls' lavatory on the second floor-_

Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head. _Are you CRAZY?_ he mentally shouted. _Your servant or not, I'm not ambushing some poor girl in the loo-_

_Don't be an idiot, Potter,_ Marvolo snapped. _It won't be *using* the loo, it just *lives* in the loo-_

_It WHAT? That's even worse!_ he thought furiously. _If this is some trap with some stupid cursed Dark Toiletbrush of Doom-_

_Will you SHUT UP FOR A SECOND?_ Marvolo shrieked. _There is a PASSAGEWAY. Beneath the loo. You will barely need to be in the loo for more than a minute. Are you happy now, Potter?_

Not really, he wasn't. _Why is the passageway towards your loyal servant in the girls' loo?_

_Don't ask me, I didn't put it there,_ Marvolo said sullenly.

_Well, who did, then?_

The reply came grudgingly. _Salazar Slytherin._

Harry absorbed this new information in stunned silence for a few moments.

_Look, it probably wasn't a girls' lavatory a thousand years ago,_ Marvolo said impatiently. _Undoubtedly his dark antechamber was remodeled at some point. Can we move on?_

_Sure,_ Harry thought dazedly, still processing. Maybe he *had* picked the wrong house.

_Thank you,_ Marvolo said sarcastically. _One of the sink taps has a snake on it. You must face the snake and say 'Open.'_

Harry waited a few moments, but nothing else was forthcoming. _You're having me on,_ he thought disgustedly. _I'm not going into some random girls' loo and just saying 'Open' out loud. You'll get me expelled._

_What did you say?_ Marvolo hissed, astonished.

_You'll get me expelled-_

_No, you idiot boy,_ he snarled. _You said 'Open.'_

_Uh, yeah,_ he thought, puzzled. _It's a word. You know, like...open up?_

Marvolo shrieked again in frustration. _Potter. Grab your Slytherin house crest, look at the snakes on it, and say 'Open' again._

Harry sighed. Marvolo obviously wasn't going to let this go. Looking around to make sure that nobody else was in sight, he reluctantly grabbed his crest, faced it, and said, feeling rather silly: *Open.* Nothing happened.

_Potter, you're a Parselmouth,_ Marvolo said flatly. _Or rather, *I* am a Parselmouth, and the ability seems to have transferred itself to you._

_Is that some sort of insult?_ he thought warily.

Marvolo sighed. _No. It means, in small words, that you can talk to snakes._

_Er. Okay._ As far as special magic powers went, this one was fairly lame. Still, at least it fit thematically with his house.

_It will make accessing the Chamber of Secrets much easier,_ Marvolo said thoughtfully. _As long as my servant doesn't messily devour you, my plans stand a chance of eventually recovering._

_I'm sorry, what?_ Harry thought, alarmed.

_Oh, did I think that out loud? Whoops. I was just joking, of course. That would never happen. Ha. Ha. Ha._

_Yeah, no. I've got to think about this some more,_ Harry said, quickening his pace as he hurried back to the dorms.

_Do think about it, Potter,_ Marvolo cajoled him. _While I am trapped inside your head, it wouldn't make any sense for me to harm you. No matter how much I really, really want to._

Marvolo had many strengths. Reassurance, Harry reflected glumly, was not one of them.

***

Harry received another letter at breakfast the next morning. Unlike the note he'd received from Dumbledore, this invitation was little more than a rough scribble across coarse, folded paper. Still, Harry definitely wanted to meet anyone who said that they'd known his parents, even if he'd never met this 'Hagrid' before.

"My, my, someone's popular," Pansy purred. Somehow, she'd slid over without him noticing until she was close enough to read the note over his shoulder.

Harry quickly turned the note over, carefully writing out his acceptance on the back. "Morning, Pansy."

"Oh, don't be like that, Harry," she said with an exaggerated pout. "I helped you with your correspondence with the Headmaster, didn't I?"

"Well, yes," he admitted. "But this isn't anything like that. It's just a friendly invitation."

"Then there's no harm in me seeing it, is there?"

He supposed there wasn't. Shrugging, he turned the letter back over. "It's an invitation to tea from the groundskeeper at Hogwarts. Hagrid."

"Hagrid!" Pansy gasped. "I heard from Daphne who heard from Blaise who heard from Draco that he's a terrible drunk!"

Harry knotted his brows together. "You...could have just said that Draco thinks he's a drunk."

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "That would take all the fun out of it."

"Right," Harry said dubiously. "Anyways, drunk or not drunk, I'm still going to go see him. He says he knew my parents."

"Did he really?" Pansy said, running a critical eye over Hagrid's writing. "I hadn't known that. Well, anything's possible, I suppose. I'll come with you, then?"

He stared at her, bewildered. "Why?" 

"I want to see if the rumors about him being half-giant are true," she said promptly. "Besides, if he really does turn out to be an awful drunk, you'll need backup, won't you?"

Harry hesitated. "I don't know. It seems rather rude to just invite someone else along."

"Oh, come on, Harry," Pansy said, batting her eyelashes. "If he doesn't want me there, I'll leave. Besides, what's the harm in it?"

Harry had asked himself that question many times before. The answer had always turned out to be 'rather a lot.' It was then, however, that Pansy dropped her nuclear weapon.

"Aren't we friends?" she asked him.

And that was all that she really needed to do.

***

The groundskeeper's cottage looked cozy enough. Even though Rubeus Hagrid's dog was rather enormous and overfriendly, it seemed harmless, to Harry's great relief. Much like Hagrid himself, actually. He had actually been quite happy that Harry had brought a friend along, and seemed completely oblivious to Pansy's continued probing for information. Harry would have objected on his behalf, but Pansy was gracious enough to only quiz Hagrid during his frequent lulls in conversation, giving the large man time to compose himself between bouts of talking about Harry's parents.

Although some of the tidbits Pansy had ferreted out were kind of terrifying.

"Hagrid, those are extremely dangerous!" Pansy shrieked, her composure finally rattled. "They're-they're horrid, disgusting wizard killers! They're not _cute!"_

"Now, now, tha's a little hurtful," Hagrid chided her. "Aragog wouldn' hurt a fly! And besides, he was so adorable! All those tiny hairy little legs!"

Harry eyed Fang warily. The dog drooled a little. He hurriedly scooted his chair away a fraction, in case he turned out to be some sort of horrible acid-spewing killer dog after all.

To her credit, Pansy recovered quickly enough. "So, you must be very _strong_ , to handle a...a creature like that. Maybe _exceptionally_ so?"

"Nah, Aragog's a sweetie when you get ter know 'im," Hagrid said, waving an admittedly oversized hand carelessly. "All you need is a gentle touch, see?" From Pansy's expression, she quite clearly did not see.

Amusing as it was to watch their exchange, Harry couldn't help but allow his eyes to wander as he absentmindedly snuck rock cakes up his sleeves for later. Now *those* would make useful weapons. He frowned as he caught sight of a crumpled newspaper in the corner. 'GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST', the headline blared.

_I thought you said their security was almost unbreakable,_ Harry thought at Marvolo, alarmed. _D'you suppose my vault is safe?_

Marvolo snorted. _Potter, you didn't even know you *had* a vault a few days ago._

_Well, no,_ Harry argued, _but now that I've finally got one, I'm rather keen on not losing it immediately, thanks._

He'd never been able to figure out how Marvolo was able to mentally communicate the concept of sneering so well. _Read the article, Potter. It says that nothing was taken-_ He sensed Marvolo frowning. _Hmm. That is...unusual._

Harry quickly snatched the paper up, scanning through the lines. How incredibly lucky it had been, for the vault to be emptied out just before it got robbed! Or perhaps someone had known that the vault was going to be robbed? How could they have known, though?

"Nasty business, tha' was," Hagrid said, shaking his head sorrowfully as he noticed the paper in Harry's hands. It didn't take long for his features to break out into an infectiously good-natured grin, though. "Good thing Dumbledore saw righ' through it!"

"Dumbledore?" Harry frowned. "Wait, are you saying it was Dumbledore's vault that got robbed?"

Hagrid looked stricken, a hand flying to his mouth. "Shouldn't've said that."

"It's all right, Hagrid," Pansy said in a syrupy sweet voice, a gleam in her eyes. She'd finally scented a piece of actual information to sink her teeth into. "Although of course I think Gringotts should have taken more care, shouldn't they? Imagine what would happen if the thieves go back for someone else's riches!"

"Now, now, there's no need ter worry," Hagrid reassured her. "It's safe at Hogwarts now."

Harry gave him an incredulous look. "Dumbledore keeps all his money at Hogwarts?" Break-in or not, that certainly seemed a lot less secure than the goblin bank.

"Oh, it wasn't money," Hagrid said absentmindedly, apparently unable to help himself. "It's-" He stopped abruptly. "Here, now! I shouldn' be talking about that!"

"Don't worry, you're doing a great job," Pansy said, leaning forward hungrily. "I'm sure whatever it is is safe in Dumbledore's office."

"It's well protected, don't you worry," Hagrid assured them. "By all the teachers, even me-" He stopped again, another look of dismay crossing his face.

"You said my dad made really good cookies, didn't you, Hagrid?" Harry cut in, ignoring Pansy's pointed glare. Hagrid had been nice enough to him, and he felt rather bad at how upset their line of questioning was making him.

"Oh, yeah," Hagrid said, brightening again. "But y'had ter be careful, since he'd put the strangest things in at least one o'them. Had a talent for picking the most awful flavors imaginable, he did! Great fun, yer dad was!" He straightened up abruptly, eyes widening with surprise. "I almost forgot! An' I got her for you special, and all!"

"Her?" Harry said warily, but Hagrid had already dashed into the back room of his hut. His jaw dropped as he saw what Hagrid had emerged with. Within a delicate cage, a beautiful snowy owl blinked at him. Dumbledore's cryptic words from their meeting suddenly made sense.

"D'you like her?" Hagrid said anxiously.

"She's-she's perfect," Harry blurted out. "I-Hagrid, I don't know how to repay you! I-I can't possibly-"

But Hagrid wouldn't hear of it. "She's a gift for you, Harry," he said, handing the owl over. "Come an' visit more often, an' that'll be all the 'repaying' I need!"

"I will," Harry promised fervently. "I'll visit every week. Thank you so much, Hagrid."

The big man beamed at him. In that moment, Harry really didn't care if he truly was a giant, or a drunk. Whatever he was, Hagrid was definitely his friend.

And, no matter what Hagrid said, he would definitely repay him.

***

_Interesting, what the oaf let slip,_ Marvolo mused as Harry, looking around several times to make sure nobody was watching, nervously ducked his head and darted into the girls' loo.

_Don't call him an oaf,_ Harry thought angrily as he searched the sinks for the tap with the snake on it.

_Hagrid, then, if you so despise accurate descriptions,_ Marvolo said scornfully. _Anything that Albus Dumbledore desires to be protected would be safest under his own protection. On his person, perhaps. Why go through the hassle of telling others? Especially Hagrid, of all people?_

*Open*, Harry said, and grimaced at the wave of stench rising from the mouth of the newly opened tunnel. _He said he was helping to protect it, wasn't he? Must be nice, to have so many friends. Marvolo, this tunnel stinks. I can't go down there-_

_Quick! I think I hear someone coming!_

Harry knew Marvolo was definitely lying. It was too convenient to be true. But the thought of being caught spurred him into action. _If I die, you die too, remember,_ he warned Marvolo, and gingerly slid down the pipe. He heard the sound of the passage opening sliding shut behind him as he hurtled down the tunnel at wonderfully breakneck speed. Harry gaped at the giant, discarded snakeskins on the floor - no wonder Marvolo had found his speak-to-snakes ability convenient - and ooh'd and aah'd appropriately at the horrifically boring old statues of long-dead Dark Wizards lining the alcoves in the walls.

The summoning chamber was rather more impressive than the passageway, with a far more dramatic color scheme to boot. Harry rolled his eyes slightly at the secret trigger phrase, but spoke it obediently anyways. *Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four,* he hissed. _Not biased at all,_ he thought sarcastically at Marvolo.

_Close your eyes! Now!_ Marvolo snarled. _The sight of its gaze will kill you!_

_You couldn't have told me that before?_ Harry thought, aghast, instantly squeezing his eyelids tightly shut.

*Massssssster.* The hiss emanating from somewhere in front of him was strangely melodic, although it was also so intensely loud as to almost be painful. *I hunger. Have you brought thingssssss to eat?*

Harry really, really hoped that 'thingsssss to eat' didn't mean him. *I'll bring them next time I come,* he promised, figuring he might as well give Marvolo's servant some personal interest in not killing him. *Will you close your eyes for me?*

*Yesssss, Massssster,* the snake hissed obediently. Harry heard movement, perhaps of large coils sliding against each other, and felt the cool touch of enormous scales against his hand. Tentatively, he opened his eyes to see an awe-inspiring sight. The snake was _huge_ , and - he had to admit - extraordinarily impressive.

_Now *this* is a servant,_ Marvolo thought smugly. Harry had to agree with him. A worrying thought struck him.

*You're lovely,* he said honestly, and the snake rippled its coils with evident pleasure. *You must need quite a lot of food, though. What-what sort of things do you like to eat?* _Please don't say people,_ he chanted in his head, _please don't say people..._

*I have ssssslept many years, Massssster-*

*Harry.* He could correct Marvolo's mistake, at least. *My name is Harry. What's yours?*

The snake writhed briefly. *I am,* it hissed, evidently confused. An enormous tongue flicked out, tasting the air. *You are,* it said, evidently satisfied. *You are Masssster. I am.*

Well, that wasn't getting him anywhere. Maybe the snake really didn't have a name, after all. He ignored Marvolo's increasing smugness, choosing instead to muse out loud to the snake. *I guess a cow would do. Hogwarts always seems to have loads of food.* He frowned. Smuggling one piece of roast beef from the dining hall at a time certainly wasn't going to cut it. How on earth was he going to bring it any meals? It wasn't as if he could just lug a cow down the drainpipe. *Maybe even two cows. But-*

And then, a brilliant idea struck him. A way to solve two problems in one go.

_Potter, NO,_ Marvolo snapped. _Don't you dare-_

_Potter yes,_ Harry thought with some smugness of his own. He smiled happily as he stroked the snake's scales, tuning out Marvolo's enraged bellowing.

Hagrid was going to be so thrilled to meet his new friend.


	7. Winning Friends and Influencing People

Marvolo sulked for the entire weekend, leaving Harry to struggle though the first few chapters of _An Encyclopedia of Modern Spells_ on his own. Still, he managed to pick up a couple of interesting spells that would probably come in handy. He was particularly fond of Concelhaut's Congenial Comb - his hair was *finally* lying flat now, for once - but he suspected that the jinx he'd learned, _Combusting Eyebrows_ , would be much further up Marvolo's alley. It was with some regret that he closed the book on Sunday night, wishing he'd had more time to practice Vladislav's Poking Finger. Maybe he could use it on Weasley when he was being particularly annoying.

When Marvolo still hadn't snapped out of his funk by Monday morning, Harry began to worry slightly.

_You're not still mad about the whole Hagrid thing, are you?_ he thought tentatively. Marvolo didn't answer. Evidently, he clearly *was* still mad, and nothing Harry could say seemed to calm him down.

The matter wasn't helped by his brief meeting with Hagrid on the castle green after one of his classes. The giant man, grinning from ear to ear, waved him down eagerly. "She's just beautiful, Harry," he gushed. There was no doubt as to who - or what - he was referring to. "Doesn't seem ter get along too well with Aragog, but I'm sure they'll sort it out eventually," he said, waving his hand carelessly. "I've separated their territories for now. We're goin' on a ride this afternoon!"

"A ride?" Harry blinked in confusion. Had he heard that right?

"Well, she's got ter have her eyes closed, so as not to kill all the other lovely forest creatures," Hagrid explained. "So I'll have to steer her around. The centaurs can get rather tetchy about outsiders, but I know a great spot with some Blood-Sucking Bugbears she can play with. Want ter come along?"

"No, thank you," Harry said quickly. He could envision the sight of Hagrid whooping with glee as he led Marvolo's servant around in an 'adorable' game of deadly tag. The thought alone was traumatizing enough that the prospect of seeing it in person made him shudder. "Er, it sounds fun, though. I'm glad you made friends so quickly."

"That's all righ', Harry," Hagrid said jovially. "I'll say hi to Slinky for you."

Harry gaped at him. "'Slinky?'"

"Well, she needed a name, didn't she?" Hagrid said, in what was apparently meant to be a reasonable tone.

This new indignity was finally too much for Marvolo to bear. _I hate you,_ he said, mental voice flat. _I hate you so, so much._

_Look, it's not all bad,_ Harry thought, trying to cheer Marvolo up. _At least this way, your servant's got something to do in her spare time other than kill people. We can always ask her to eat Quirrell later._

_Not the point, Potter._

_Okay, so this plan went off the rails a little,_ Harry thought soothingly. _No big deal. Hey, what about those dark potions you wanted to brew?_

_Good idea. Go blow yourself up in a catastrophic Potions accident and put both of us out of our misery._

This wasn't going so well. _How about those other resources that you mentioned? You've got to have some back-up plans, right?_

_I'm not telling you my backup plans, Potter,_ Marvolo snapped. _You'll just pervert them for your own dark design._

Harry was about to protest that his designs weren't particularly dark *or* perverted - all things considered, that sounded more like a description of Salazar Slytherin - but then he caught a snippet of a story from Hagrid about how he was teaching Slinky to play catch with cow femurs. He had to admit that he really didn't know what else you would call any sort of plan that had ended up with _that_ as an outcome.

_Okay, look, how about you just teach me some dark and terrible spells?_ Harry thought desperately. _Then I can smite your enemies directly, instead of asking Sli-er, your servant to do it! Wouldn't that be fun?_

_I'm not a child, Potter,_ Marvolo snarled. He was quiet for a few moments as Harry bid Hagrid farewell. Then, a small, sulky voice mumbled in the back of his skull: _That *would* be fun._

_Oh, good,_ Harry thought, relieved. All was right with the world again. _I learned a combusting eyebrows hex that I thought you might like-_

_No._ Marvolo's voice had regained its smoothness. _The spells I want are in_ Magicke Moste Evile. _You've given me your word, Potter. I'm sure you'll oblige._

Oh, no. Harry swallowed nervously, already thinking of strategies to delay having to open that thing. _Okay, Marvolo. But I want to master each spell before I go on to the next one._

_But of course._ Harry frowned. Marvolo had agreed to that *way* too quickly. _Take your time._

Harry was rather distracted in his afternoon classes, wondering frantically about what exactly he'd gotten himself into. He barely even noticed Weasley's constant glares at him from across the room. He had bigger problems to deal with.

Or so he thought.

***

Unlike Marvolo, who complained bitterly about the inefficiencies of having to depend on a breakable tool for something as simple as flying - now *that* was a trick Harry wouldn't mind learning - Harry was really excited about Flying lessons.

That excitement lasted until Neville's took a sickening tumble from his broom as he took off before Madam Hooch's whistle. Harry winced as he heard Neville's wrist cracking.

"Merlin, Longbottom's a disaster," Draco said as soon as he and Madam Hooch were out of earshot. "I'm seriously reconsidering our friendship." Harry frowned at that, but before he could say anything, Draco bent, quickly snatching something round and glinting from the ground. "He even dropped his Remembrall," Draco said, shaking his head incredulously. "How can anyone possibly be so hopeless that they forget a _Remembrall?_ "

"Watch it, Malfoy," Weasley barked, face turning red. Draco's eyes gleamed with amusement, and Harry groaned internally. He recognized that sort of maliciousness when he saw it.

"I don't think I will, _Weasley,_ " he said, clearly enjoying himself. "Maybe I'll leave it on top of the Astronomy Tower for Longbottom to find, if he can remember where it is."

"Can I see it?" Harry kept his voice casual. He didn't really think there was much hope of defusing the situation now that Weasley had gone and stuffed his face in it, but he owed it to Neville to try. "I want to know what it does."

Draco sighed. "It's in the name, Harry. It tells you if you've forgotten something."

"I've got quite a lot of sinister plots that I've forgotten," Harry offered. "I should really write them down, but you know how it is with elaborate deathtraps."

Draco snorted, a corner of his mouth quirking upward. He made as if to toss the Remembrall to Harry, who silently congratulated himself on the successful distraction. But then that stupid Weasley boy butted in again.

"Give that here, you slimy snakes," he blustered, moving forward. Harry sighed, knowing the jig was up. There was no way Draco was going to let *that* go.

"How about we play a game of catch for it?" Smirking, Draco mounted his broom, lazily tossing the Remembrall from hand to hand as he rose into the air.

"Ron, no!" Hermione cried as Weasley, truly matching his hair now, grabbed his own broom. "You'll get in trouble - you'll lose us _points-_ " Weasley just snorted dismissively, waving her aside as he rose into the air as well, wobbling quite a bit more than Draco.

Harry was torn. On one hand, he didn't want to offend Draco, who had admittedly been provoked by Weasley, in front of all their friends. On the other hand, Draco was being downright cruel to Neville for no other reason than - well, his Neville-ishness. Harry supposed he shouldn't expect that someone raised by wizards - who seemed to have rather callous attitudes about injury - would act any better than that. But Seamus Finnigan, Blaise, and Daphne seemed much nicer than him, and they'd been raised by wizards too. Was it just the fact that Draco was popular that made him act so meanly sometimes, just as he'd noticed in Muggle school? Somehow, he didn't think Draco would appreciate the comparison.

While Harry was debating with himself, Draco and Ron had ascended to stomach-churning heights. If one of them fell off their broom, they'd have far worse injuries than a broken wrist to contend with.

"Harry, do something!" Harry's eyes widened as he realized that Hermione was speaking to him. What was he supposed to do? He cursed himself for a fool - if he'd set Concelhaut's Comb on Weasley earlier instead of just standing there while he took off, Draco would probably have been satisfied enough with Weasley's embarrassment to quietly give the Remembrall back later. But now, with the two of them far above in the sky, it was far too late.

Harry gasped as he caught a glint in the air. Draco, true to his word, had lobbed the Remembrall in a wide arc. Weasley, to his credit, dove furiously to catch it. Impossibly, his fingers brushed the ball as it fell - he'd _almost_ had it, but the glass fell from his grip, and Neville's precious property tumbled towards the ground.

If there was one thing Harry was good at, it was running. He took off in a mad sprint towards where the ball was falling, but it was all too clear that he wasn't going to reach it in time. Above him, Weasley was urging his broom downward, but he, too, would undoubtedly be too late.

Unless.

Harry pulled out his wand, really hoping that he'd gotten the incantation right. _"Te voi împunge!"_ he shouted, aiming at the Remembrall.

Vladislav's Poking Finger bumped gently against the Remembrall from the bottom left. It wobbled, slowing fractionally, but resumed its plummet quickly enough. That was all right, though - Harry was on the right track.

_"Te voi împunge!" "Te voi împunge!" "Te voi împunge!"_ Harry shouted the spell over and over, sending a flurry of magical fingers to poke the ball repeatedly. As he'd hoped, the fingers, being magic, didn't just shatter the ball immediately when they touched it. Instead, the combined force of many slightly-firm pokes was enough to slow the ball down momentarily, sending it briefly upward before it resumed falling again. With the added time, he was able to reach the ball just before it hit the ground, diving to catch it and cradling it to his chest.

He just wanted to lie down for a while. Harry was _exhausted._ He didn't remember running tiring him out this much before. Could he seriously have been drained by a stupid joke spell to poke people?

Weasley was still hurtling towards him, and he didn't have time to worry too much about the question. Groaning, Harry pushed himself up from the ground, moving back towards the group as fast as he could. Draco, of course, had already beat him back, standing with practiced innocence behind his flat broom.

"That was fast spellwork, Harry," Draco said, arching an eyebrow. "Why didn't you just use _Arresto Momentum?_ "

Harry had no idea what that was. He mentally added it to his ever-growing list of useful spells to learn. "Oh, you know," he lied, mimicking Draco's typical nonchalance. "I thought it would look cooler."

From her spot among the Gryffindors, Hermione glared at both of them disapprovingly, while Draco laughed. "You know, you're pretty fun, Harry. You can take a joke. Unlike _some_ people," he added, smirking as Weasley, holding grimly onto his broom, dismounted to join the rest of them. "No talent on a broom, eh, Weasley?" he said, raising his voice so that the other boy could hear. "Suppose that's what happens when you can't afford even a mop to practice on, hmm?"

Weasley moved forward again, but was stopped in his tracks by the reappearance of Madam Hooch. He glared at the Slytherins, and Harry winced. Up until recently, he'd had no money, either. Draco seemed to think it was all in good fun, at least partially - unlike Dudley, who'd just used that as an excuse - but he could really be downright vicious sometimes. Weasley hadn't deserved that last comment.

After class was over, when the rest of the group was safely far enough ahead, he leaned in towards Draco. "Did you really have to throw in that remark about his money?" he whispered. "He'll just retaliate twice as hard now, you know."

"Let him," Draco said, tossing his head arrogantly. "I'm not scared of him." He looked at Harry somewhat incredulously. "Don't tell me you actually feel sorry for the Weasel? What, are you establishing a charity for idiot Gryffindors, or something?"

"Neville's not an idiot," Harry said, frowning, and Draco sighed.

"Harry, I know he's your friend, but you have to admit that he's really not helping himself right now."

"Well, we're not helping him either, are we?" Harry said firmly. "It's a good thing I managed to save his Remembrall. How much worse do you think he'd feel if you'd smashed it?"

Draco had the grace to look somewhat abashed. "It's just a Remembrall," he muttered. "It's not like he can't just buy another one." He sighed. "All right, all right, I'll leave off slagging Neville in public. The Weasel is fair game, though. His family's blood traitors through and through. You'll see, Harry - he doesn't deserve your pity."

Harry nodded along, but he wasn't quite sure that that was the case.

***

Ron cornered him in the hallway the morning after.

"You returned Neville's Remembrall," he said in an accusatory tone, stabbing a finger at Harry's chest.

Harry had had an incredibly long night struggling to pick up a basic _Incendio_ \- an essential piece of knowledge in order to cast Contessa's New-and-Improved Blood-Boiling Curse, apparently. He'd still been drained from repeated use of the poking spell, but of course he hadn't been willing to admit that depressingly lame fact to Marvolo. Of course, that had meant he'd also had to suffer Marvolo's withering scorn when the _Incendio_ spell kept failing.

In short, Harry wasn't in the best of moods.

"Yeah," he said, stepping to the side to get around Weasley. To his annoyance, the other boy shifted too, blocking his path. "So what?"

"I know what you're up to," Weasley snarled, screwing up his face like a constipated pigeon.

"Huh?" It wasn't the coolest response, but Harry really didn't know what to say to that.

"Trying to slither your way into Neville's good graces, manipulating him so you can toss him aside." Weasley folded his arms. "I won't let you."

"I'm not trying to slither into anything," Harry said, exasperated. "Why do you think I'm-"

"You're a _Slytherin,_ " Weasley said darkly. "Not a single witch or wizard from that house who hasn't gone bad."

Harry gaped at him incredulously. That was so unfair! Tracey Davis was so meek that she probably wouldn't say a bad word to anyone - well, not to their faces, at least - and he couldn't imagine how Blaise or Daphne could possibly go bad, unless they decided to conspire to push bad fashion trends onto the wizarding world.

No, he should give Weasley the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was still angry over Draco's insult yesterday. "Look, I'm sorry about-"

"I'm watching you," said Weasley, actually going so far as to hunch his shoulders and point two fingers at Harry's eyes. Then he brushed past him brusquely, and was gone.

Harry seethed all the way to his next class. Draco was right. Weasley really *did* deserve it.

***

Apparently, Weasley had given Draco the same speech the very next day. Unlike Harry, Draco hadn't taken it in stride.

"Harry, you're my second," Draco snapped as soon as he barged into the common room, eyes narrowed to near-slits.

"In command?" Harry guessed. "Great! Thought you'd never ask."

Blaise looked up from the sofa he was lounging on, shuddering exaggeratedly. "Now that's a terrifying thought."

"Oh, stuff it, you." Draco folded his arms, scowling. "I'm not taking applications right now, anyways. No, Harry, I mean my _second._ For a Wizards' Duel."

"A duel?" Harry said warily. "Who are we dueling?"

The other boy's mouth twisted, almost spitting out the name as though it were a curse. _"Weasley."_

Harry nodded solemnly. "Okay. I'll light his eyebrows on fire, you go for the legs-"

Blaise burst into a sudden coughing fit. Draco's own eyebrows almost hit his forehead as he gaped at Harry. "What? Merlin, Harry, no, no. Just - no. A second doesn't _participate_ in the duel! What, were you raised by wolves or something?"

"That's what you're concerned about?" Blaise tutted disapprovingly.

"It's the most important thing, obviously. I had to prioritize," Draco said, somewhat defensively. "Anyways, it doesn't matter. We're not actually _going_ to the duel. We're just going to tell Filch that Weasley's going to be there. With any luck, we'll catch some other Gryffindor morons along with him as well."

Harry didn't really see how eyebrow combustion was any worse than thumbscrews and torture racks, but maybe it was a wizarding thing. Still, he was a bit disappointed. "That's too bad," he said regretfully. "I'd have liked to see a real wizards' duel."

"You wouldn't have anyways," Blaise said, snickering.

"We can't all poison our enemies at dinner, Blaise," Draco said sharply. The other boy glared fiercely for a few moments before his brow suddenly smoothed, brushing the comment off with a glib laugh. Still, Draco's face was a little pink, his mouth drawn into a thin line. "Fine. You want to see a duel, Harry? You'll see a duel. That goes for you too, Blaise."

"Great," Harry said eagerly. What dire spells of destruction was he about to witness? He was rather excited to see what the product of a psychotic wizard upbringing would be in combat.

Perhaps he would even take notes.

***

"Weasley," Draco hissed. He eyed Seamus consideringly, as if debating how to address him, before finally settling on a courteous nod and a far more neutral: "Finnigan."

"Slytherins," Weasley snorted back.

"Malfoy," Seamus said, matching Draco's tone. "Hey, Harry."

"Hey, Seamus," Harry said, waving back at him. He blinked, noticing two more figures hovering anxiously behind the pair. "Hermione? Neville?"

"Hi, Harry! I forgot the password back into Gryffindor Tower," a miserable-looking Neville said by way of explanation.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed. "I can't believe _you're_ involved in this, too! You're breaking the _rules!"_

Harry blinked at her, puzzled. "Well, so are you," he pointed out.

_"That's besides the point!"_

"Not that your little menagerie isn't entertaining, Weasley," Draco drawled, "but I'd like to get your humiliating defeat out of the way before morning."

"You wish, Malfoy!" As comebacks went, it really wasn't the greatest. Harry mentally awarded first blood to Draco.

The two boys circled each other warily for a moment before they sunk into equally shallow bows. With a lightning-quick jump of speed, both cast at almost the same moment.

_"Everte Statum!"_

_"Slugulus Eructo!"_

Weasley flew backward, crashing into Seamus. The two of them slid backward across the floor, taking down a suit of antique armor with a terrific crash. Harry froze. "D'you think anyone heard that?"

_"Blaaaaargh,"_ Draco said. Harry and Blaise stared in horror as an alarmingly large slug emerged from his mouth, plopping gently towards the floor.

"Probably not," Blaise said weakly once he'd recovered the ability to speak. "What are the chances-"

"Students out of bed!" a gleeful voice, less faint than Harry would have hoped, called out from the hallway. "Find them, my sweet!"

"Filch!" Seamus, Harry, and Neville gasped.

"BLARGH!" Draco shouted.

"Run," Blaise said immediately. In silent agreement, he and Harry grabbed one of Draco's arms each and took off in a dead sprint, hopefully away from the voice. Harry hoped that the Gryffindors would manage to escape too - well, maybe not Weasley - but they didn't really have time to worry about that.

"With any luck, we'll leave him far behind," Harry panted.

"Harry, we're literally leaving a trail of slugs for him to follow!" Blaise moaned. "What do you think is going to happen?"

"He's a caretaker, maybe they'll distract him?" Harry suggested hopefully. This was only met with more groans from both Blaise and Draco, although it was really getting hard to tell with the latter.

_Marvolo, some help here?_ he thought desperately.

Unfortunately, his friend was - unbelievably - _still_ sulking. _No. Serves you right for being an idiot._

_Oh, come on,_ Harry thought angrily, unable to help himself. _You're just jealous that my minion is better than yours._

_I beg your pardon?_ Marvolo snapped, outraged.

Well, now that he'd started, he was committed. Knowing he was probably just digging himself deeper, he plunged bravely forward. _Hagrid's probably half-giant, he's got your loyal servant - and what sounds like an entire army of horrifying deadly creatures - wrapped around his fingers, *and* he churns out heavy weaponry like candy._ Or like rock cakes, to be more precise. _You have to admit, he's got a bit of an edge on Slinky-_

_I HATE you,_ Marvolo snarled, then retreated deep into the back of his mind. Well. That hadn't been the smartest move Harry had ever made.

"Now what!" Blaise wailed. Harry's eyes widened. Somehow, they'd managed to run straight into a dead end. Blaise frantically pulled at the handle of the locked door in front of them. "What do we do?"

Draco gurgled furiously, gesturing towards his wand. A flash of inspiration struck Harry.

"Alohomora!" he cried, stabbing his wand at the door. To his relief, the lock clinked open, and the three of them darted inside, pressing up against the door to hide.

"I can't hear Filch any more," Blaise whispered, his ear pressed up against the door. "I think we really did lose him." Draco made a wretched gurgle of assent.

From behind them, a loud _SLURP._ And then the sound of enthusiastic chewing.

"Did-did something just _eat_ that slug?" Harry asked weakly. Slowly, he, Blaise, and Draco turned around.

An extremely large, three-headed dog with eyes like burning coals and jaws like Slinky's stared back at them. The middle head was chewing on something more-or-less contemplatively, while the other two heads looked rather less pleased.

"More slugs!" Harry howled, thumping Draco on the back. "Quick, vomit up more slugs!"

Draco's shoulders heaved, but it was futile. The dog's attention had already begun to slowly turn towards the three choicier morsels within its room.

"RUN!" Blaise screamed again, and they threw the door open and ran as if Snape himself were on their heels. The sounds of thwarted howling and snarls echoed behind them, audible even from behind the closed door, as they fled.

"I-am _never_ \- listening to you two again!" Blaise hissed furiously as they stumbled back into the Slytherin common room. "There are slug bits all _over_ my robes!"

"That's not my fault," Harry protested weakly. 

Draco managed a glare - the flow of slugs had already begun to subside. "What is that senile idiot Dumbledore thinking?" he gasped out between rounds. "Putting that creature in a school-"

"Oh, that was probably Hagrid," Harry said, shrugging. The other two boys stared at him incredulously. "What? You have to admit, it makes sense."

_A Cerberus,_ Marvolo said slowly. _The guard dog of the underworld._

_Oh, so now you're talking to me again?_

_I'm talking *at* you. Shut up, Potter._ Marvolo resumed his musings. _It was standing on something - a trapdoor. What is Dumbledore hiding? And why with such obvious bait?_

_It could be a trap,_ Harry thought.

_Oh, how brilliant, Potter,_ Marvolo said, voice dripping with sarcasm. _A trap. Nobody would *ever* have thought of that one without your scinitillating intellect. But who would be stupid enough to fall for-_ Abruptly, his friend's voice cut off. _Oh._

_Oh?_ Harry prompted. He was met with a sigh.

_Leave me alone, Potter. I wish to contemplate the depressing reality of my non-existence for a few moments in private._

_I can curse a few slugs for you, if it'd make you feel better,_ Harry offered.

Marvolo sighed again. _Maybe later, Potter._ And then he was gone.

Harry tuned back into Draco and Blaise's furious argument. "-stupid Gryffindors probably got caught, saddled with all that excess baggage," Draco was saying. "Besides, you should be grateful. You got to see a real Wizards' Duel after all."

Harry and Blaise exchanged glances. Neither of them wanted to tell Draco what the worst part of this entire sorry evening had been.

Namely, the fact that Weasley had obviously won.

***

Surprisingly, Weasley didn't seem too inclined to rub his victory in the Slytherins' faces. Harry didn't really have much time to be grateful for that, though. On one hand, he had to balance his increasingly widening circle of friends, make time to sneak away to play with Slinky, and keep his grades up. On the other hand, he had to dodge Quirrell whenever possible, patiently act as Marvolo's sounding board as he attempted to puzzle out where the _real_ location of Dumbledore's unknown treasure was, and work his way through _Magicke Moste Evile._

It was that last one that was the biggest problem.

Now Harry knew why Marvolo had been so eager to agree to his terms. The way the book worked was by implanting experiences and memories in its reader's head. After just a few short hours of study, Harry had far more intimate knowledge of the New-and-Improved Blood Boiling Curse, the gruesome Slapchop spell, and a modified switching curse that did absolutely horrid things to people's intestines than he would have ever wanted to know.

Unfortunately, Marvolo still wasn't happy.

_These may be fun little diversions,_ he said, ignoring Harry's shudder, _but none of them are directly useful to me._

Harry had to agree with that. _Maybe we need to be more specific,_ he suggested. _Look for books on resurrection, or possession, or things like that._

_I already know more than the so-called petty 'experts' in such things,_ Marvolo proclaimed arrogantly. _Still, you mention possession. Perhaps..._ He considered the suggestion for a while. _I may have a few ideas. Still, you may need to learn some...precautionary spells. Fiendfyre, for one._

_It's fiendishly hard, isn't it,_ Harry thought glumly.

_Yes. Get through Magicke Moste Evile first, and then we'll see. We can always order more compendia._

_Oh, yay,_ Harry thought. As usual, Marvolo missed his sarcasm. Still, he managed to distract Marvolo enough by coming up with stupid plans to get rid of Quirrell to delay the inevitable for a while.

It took a couple of weeks of this routine before Harry met the lavatory's resident occupant.

"Hello there," a voice said behind him.

Harry let out an embarrassingly high-pitched shriek, leaping away from Slinky's faucet. He whirled around, heart pounding, gaping at the shimmering ghost peering curiously at him from behind a gigantic pair of horn-rimmed glasses. "I-I'm sorry!" he babbled. "This really isn't what it looks like!"

"It isn't what it _looks like?_ " the ghost squealed, drawing closer to him. "So you're not here to throw things at me, or make fun of my toilet, or laugh at poor, friendless, Moaning Myrtle?"

"Er. No?" Harry said warily, still prepared to run.

The ghost's eyes widened hungrily as she floated even closer to Harry. "Then...do you want to hear how I died?"

_No,_ he thought emphatically. "Sure," he said out loud, edging closer towards the bathroom door.

"Oh, but it was awful," the ghost - Myrtle - said eagerly, twirling around with obvious relish. "There I was, crying in the bathroom after Olive Hornby tormented me again, when I heard a _boy's_ voice! In the girls' bathroom! Can you imagine that?"

"Oh, the horror," Harry said quickly, taking several more steps back. "Nope, I can't imagine that. Not at all."

Myrtle ignored him, clearly caught up in her story. "I opened the door, to tell him to _go away,_ and then I _died._ The last thing I saw was a great pair of glowing, immense, yellow eyes."

"Oh!" Harry said, surprised. "You mean Slinky?"

Myrtle stared at him, jaw distending in horror. "What?"

He blinked at her. "What?"

With a loud, despairing wail, the ghost tore away, vanishing down a toilet with several screams and rather a lot of water.

Well, that problem had seemed to solve itself. Although Harry was quite quick about visiting Slinky from then on. He wasn't sure whether the ghost would tell on him or not.

And so, the weeks went by. Snape glared at him. Hermione studied with him. Pansy gossiped with him. Myrtle avoided him, which was probably for the best. He, Draco, Blaise, and the goons played a lot of Exploding Snap. He hung out with Neville, from time to time.

Marvolo made a lot of cryptic comments about "the thing within the Room of Hidden Things" - enough for Harry to wonder if he was supposed to solve it like a riddle - but Marvolo seemed reluctant to give any more away, and so Harry waited patiently until the time came for his friend to dramatically reveal his secrets.

And then Weasley did something very stupid again. And everything about Harry's comfortable existence changed.

***

Harry scowled at Weasley, Hermione's tearful face still fresh in his mind. "You prat," he said, genuinely angry. "She was just trying to help you, you ungrateful jerk!"

Weasley glared at him, face reddening. "Mind your own business, Potter."

"Harry's right," someone spoke up. Harry was surprised to see that it was Neville. The chubby boy wilted a little beneath Weasley's incredulous stare, but stood his ground with astonishing determination. "Hermione's been really nice to me. She just wants to help us do better in classes. It wasn't right to be mean to her for that."

Weasley looked uncertain, scuffing his toe against the ground. "Well, I didn't _ask_ for her help, did I?" he muttered. "She shouldn't have just barged in like that. I didn't know she was going to hear me, anyways."

"Oh, great defense, Weasley," Harry said sarcastically. "I'm sure that'd make her feel *much* better."

"I-I can go look for her," Neville volunteered. "I'm sure she won't want to miss the Hallowe'en feast."

Harry gave Weasley one last glare. He was tempted to _Wingardium Leviosa_ his books into the air - would serve him right, the unrepentant git - but he was pretty sure Hermione wouldn't approve of doing something like that. "Thanks, Neville," he said instead, nodding civilly to his friend before he hurried off to join the other Slytherins. Maybe Neville would be able to guilt Weasley into apologizing.

When he saw Neville's pale face, and the quick shake of his head as they entered the Great Hall, he knew that Hermione really was terribly upset. ".Parvati and Lavender said she's been crying in the girls' loo since Charms class," he said worriedly. "Maybe-maybe we can take some food for her later?"

Harry supposed that was the best they could do.

But when Quirrell burst in, shrieking loudly about a troll in the dungeons, Harry's face paled, too. Hermione didn't know.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Draco hissed, tugging at his sleeve as Harry attempted to slip away from the line of Slytherins heading to the Astronomy Tower for shelter, using the confused mass of Gryffindors beside them as cover.

"Hermione doesn't know about the troll!" he whispered frantically, pulling his sleeve from Draco's grasp.

The other boy gaped at him. "You can't seriously be considering risking a troll for some Mu-er, I mean, for your minion! She'll be fine, Harry, let's just _go-_ "

"You go, then," Harry said, stepping away. He didn't have time to waste on arguing. "I'll be back soon."

"Harry, you _idiot!"_ Draco said furiously. Still, as Harry peeled away from the crowd, he heard footsteps following him.

Two sets of footsteps.

Harry's eyebrows shot up as Weasley pulled level with him and Draco. "I heard what you said about Hermione," he said, face set. "It's my fault she's in there, isn't it? So...I guess I'd better come with you."

"You're both idiots," Draco said, but he didn't stop running.

"Relax, Draco," Harry said soothingly. "If the troll's in the dungeons, there's no way it'll be anywhere near the bathrooms-"

Twin screams, one from inside his skull and the other from the rapidly approaching girls' loo, proved him wrong. He should have remembered. Quirrell was a liar.

_Potter, get out of here. There's nothing you can do-_

Harry burst into the washroom, wand in his hand. He had only a few seconds to take in the scene - Hermione cowering beneath a sink, smashed porcelain and glass all over the floor. A gigantic, lumbering troll, club raised, squinting down at his friend.

_"Incendio!"_ Harry yelled. A satisfying gout of flame roared from the tip of his wand, but it seemed to lap harmlessly against the troll's hide before dissipating.

_Potter,_ Marvolo said, astonishingly calmly. _Troll hide is resistant to most spells. We have to run._

_"Fervo Sanguinum!"_ he shouted desperately, ignoring Marvolo. Contessa's Blood-Boiling Curse fizzled away, eliciting no more than a slight grunt. _"Everte Statum! Incendio!_ Look _here_ , you stupid bloody thing!"

A fragment of broken toilet hit the troll in the back of the head. As it slowly looked around, Harry stared, wide-eyed, at Weasley, who had bent to grab another fragment from the ground. That...had actually been a really good idea.

"Harry, run!" Draco screamed. "Draw it off! Get it to chase you!"

With one lumbering step, the troll covered almost a quarter of the distance between them. Harry knew that they wouldn't have time to run. But maybe - maybe, if the troll was distracted-

_"Supercilia Combustio!"_ he shouted. And that was when he discovered something quite interesting. Namely, the fact that in the absence of eyebrows, the Combusting Eyebrows jinx went for the next best thing. The eyes.

And troll eyes weren't as resistant to spells as their skin was.

The troll let out a roar of pain as its eyeballs spontaneously combusted. It raised its hands to its eyes in an attempt to put the flame out. Unfortunately for it, one of those hands was still holding its club.

The club smashed into the troll's face with a loud cracking noise. With a confused moan, eyes still smoldering, it swayed on the spot before tumbling to the ground with a massive crash.

"Hermione!" Harry gasped, running towards her. "Are you all right?"

Hermione just gaped at him, still crouched beneath a sink. "Harry - what - how did you _do_ that?"

"I got lucky, I guess," he said, brushing the question off. That really wasn't important right then. "Listen, we have to get out of here, before that thing wakes up-"

"Mr. Potter, what have you _done?_ "

Heart dropping, Harry turned to see not only Professor McGonagall, but Professors Snape and Quirrell framed in the doorway. Harry hastily averted his gaze, but not before he caught a calculating glimmer in Quirrell's eyes as the man looked slowly between the troll's body and Harry standing over it.

It would probably be a contest between Snape and Quirrell as to who was going to murder him first, he thought glumly.

To his shock, Hermione saved the day by blatantly lying to McGonagall's face with some completely implausible story about having gone to hunt for the troll. Even more shockingly, McGonagall bought the story, and even awarded house points to the three boys who had so 'gallantly come to the aid of their friend.'

After that day, he and Weasley certainly weren't friends. But, at the very least, they weren't outright enemies any more. There was something to be said for the upsides of bonding over the body of a still-smoking troll, after all.

The real problem, as Harry discovered later that evening, was Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're reaching the end of the set-up chapters! In two more chapters, we'll start getting into major canon divergence as Marvolo and Quirrell set their plans into motion. Let's hope Hogwarts survives the chaos...


	8. Rumor Has It

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Dumbledore sighed, steepling his fingers on his desk. He shook his head slightly, evidently at a loss for further things to say. "Harry."

"I wasn't trying to light the troll's eyes on fire!" Harry burst out. "It was an accident, I swear!" He heard Snape's disbelieving snort from somewhere to his right.

"I see," Dumbledore said mildly. "You _accidentally_ lit a fully grown mountain troll's eyes on fire and rendered it unconscious."

"Yes, exactly!" Harry said desperately. Then he realized how that must have sounded. "No, I mean - it was just a stupid joke spell to light people's eyebrows on fire-"

"You consider that a joke spell?" Snape snorted bitterly again. "So like your father you are, Potter." The words didn't sound like a compliment.

"No," Harry said, twisting around, "you've got it all wrong! I wouldn't have used it on a person-" Well, he definitely would have before he knew what it did, but Snape didn't need to know that. "-I just thought it would distract the troll a little! So that Hermione could get away! I had no idea it would do _that!_ "

"Idiot boy! So you cast a spell without knowing what it did?"

Harry flinched. "S-sorry, sir-"

Snape wasn't done with his rant. "You burned a mountain troll so badly that it was knocked out, and you attempt to play it off as an accident! Do you have any idea how close you and your little friends came to death, you supercilious little twit?"

"Actually, that wasn't me," Harry cut in, unable to help himself. "It got distracted by the fire, just like I'd hoped, and it knocked itself out with its club."

"That's even WORSE, you utter DUNDERHEAD-" Snape roared.

"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore said mildly. He smiled benevolently at Harry from over his glasses, eyes twinkling. "I think we can all see that this was an honest mistake. A bit of boyish high spirits in the service of one's friends, hmm?"

Both Harry and Snape gaped at him, the professor's face actually twitching with fury.

"Albus, you cannot seriously-"

"Headmaster, I really didn't-"

Dumbledore held up a hand for silence. Two sets of jaws snapped shut. "Now, Harry," he said, more seriously. "I must be honest with you. I had feared that your use of this spell presaged far darker magics. But I am glad to see that that is not the case."

_He's glad that you're just an unbelievably lucky moron,_ Marvolo translated helpfully. _You should thank Merlin that nobody recognized that Blood-Boiling Curse, or you'd *really* be in trouble._

_I didn't want to learn that stupid curse anyways,_ Harry thought irritably. To Dumbledore, he did his best to nod fervently. "No, sir! Just...just perfectly harmless eyeball - er, eyebrow combustion..." His voice trailed off near the end.

_Ooh, now there's a thought! We could write the modified spell up for the next compendium to Magicke Most Evile!_

_Shut up shut up shut up,_ Harry thought.

Dumbledore was speaking again. "I have heard many good things about you from your professors, Harry. Diligent, quick to learn, if a little, shall we say, _creative_ in terms of ideas-" He glanced quickly to the side, then amended his statement. "Well, most of your professors, anyways."

Harry swallowed, feeling Snape's eyes boring a hole into his back.

"In some respects," Dumbledore continued, "you remind me of another boy I used to teach. Another Slytherin, in fact."

_Oh, he is *not* going there,_ Marvolo thought incredulously.

_Dumbledore used to *teach* you?_ Harry thought back, just as incredulously. He tried to picture Marvolo as a little kid, but found that he couldn't quite make the image come together.

_A period of my life almost as depressingly pathetic as this one,_ Marvolo said dryly, and Harry had to repress a snort of laughter.

Luckily, Dumbledore's spell of fond reminiscence had ended. "So, all things considered," Dumbledore said, beaming beatifically, "I think that what you would truly benefit from is some fatherly advice."

"Sir," Harry said tentatively, "no offense, but I don't really have a father-"

"From your Head of House, of course!" Dumbledore said cheerfully, spreading his arms as if this solved everything.

It was hard to tell who looked more horrified, Harry or Snape. "WHAT?" they both said in unison, although Harry's squawk of dismay was considerably more high-pitched than Snape's low growl.

Snape turned his livid stare on Harry, features darkening by the second.

"Oh, _wow!"_ Harry babbled. "Such-such great fatherly advice! I-I feel so much better after hearing Professor Snape's unspoken wisdom! No more subversive thoughts here!"

"Now, now, Harry," Dumbledore chided him, wagging a finger under his nose. "It is important that *all* parties take this seriously." He shot a look at Snape. "You agree, of course, Severus?"

Snape's mouth opened and closed, twisted with fury. He appeared to have temporarily lost the ability to speak.

"It's settled, then!" Dumbledore smiled at the pair, making shooing motions with his hands. "Toodles!"

Harry staggered out into the hall in a daze, chancing a quick glance at Snape. The other man still seemed uncharacteristically paralyzed, but there was no doubt as to his thoughts. "I'll tell Dumbledore you gave me great advice!" he blurted out. "Making friends! Finding love! The Headmaster loves that sort of thing! So you don't need to actually do anything, _thankssirbye-_ "

He took off in a dead sprint down the hall.

"Potter, you bloody idiot," he heard Snape bellowing behind him. The man made an aborted lunge forward, but stopped for some reason, hissing as if in pain. Harry wondered dimly how bad his chances of survival would be if he made Professor Snape break a leg in pursuit of him. It didn't make him run any slower. Maybe he could move in with Slinky or something.

Marvolo's uncontrollable cackles of glee continued well after he had escaped immediate danger. _Well, at least one of us is enjoying this,_ he thought glumly as he trudged back into the common room.

The uproar that greeted him nearly sent him fleeing again.

***

Harry gaped in astonishment at the chaos. Pansy latched onto his arm with a squeal, a wary-looking Tracey Davis trailing her. 

"Harry! Did you really transform into a ten-foot-tall firebreathing dragon and burn the troll's nose off? Or is it really true that you're descended from a long and secret lineage of elite monster hunters who raised you in an elaborate ten-year training montage?"

"Neither? Pansy, what-"

"Oh, be that way. The latter one sounds better anyways," Pansy said, waving a hand impatiently.

"But I just said-"

"People are saying you went in there to save _Granger,_ of all people," Pansy said, wrinkling her nose and steamrolling right over Harry's protests. "Tell me *that* isn't true, if you're going to just deny everything."

Harry gulped, very aware that he was in the middle of the Slytherin common room and surrounded by some alarmingly brutish upper-years. "I'm a good employer," he said weakly.

Pansy tutted. "Harry, Harry, Harry. Hasn't Draco gone over even the basic rules of thugship with you? Goons are supposed to come to *your* rescue, not the other way around." An avid gleam lit her eye. "Oh! Perhaps it's in your blood! You were *compelled* to save the girl!" She smirked. "Merlin knows someone like her wouldn't have been capable of saving herself."

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Tracey making notes with a rather lovely acid-green quill. He craned his neck to catch a glimpse of what she was writing, eyes widening in horror. _"Lo!" the Boy-Who-Lived proclaimed, tossing his head so that his long, dark hair flowed out behind him, highlighting the cords of muscle in his swan-like but somehow incredibly masculine neck. "Fear not, fair maiden! For I am Harry Van Helsing, famed monster hunter, and the bond of our love has summoned me!"_

_"What the bloody hell is this?"_ Harry shrieked.

"Never you mind," Pansy said firmly, gesturing at Tracey to pull the parchment away. "I'm handling _Witch Weekly,_ Tracey is handling the torrid romance stories."

"But-but I'm _eleven!_ "

"Harry Van Helsing spent five years training in the faerie realm, so he's sixteen, it's all right," Tracey said absently.

"I thought he was training with Van Helsing senior," Pansy said, frowning.

Tracey shrugged. "Maybe he was being trained in the arts of courtly love?"

"Ooh, that's good, put that one in-"

"No!" Harry squeaked. "You-you can't just-"

Tracey rolled her eyes. "Fine. You'll get a two percent cut of all royalties."

"That's not-"

"Not enough? I quite agree." Smoothly, Pansy grabbed him arm, steering him away. "Five percent, and we never speak of this again, all right, Harry? Deal? Deal. Have fun!" She shoved him forward, sending him staggering over towards Draco and a large group of Slytherins. Before he could protest any further, she was gone.

But what Draco was saying wasn't much better.

"-taught him everything he knows, of course," Draco said proudly to a group of hulking Slytherin upper-years. "You should have seen the troll's head explode in a coruscating halo of unholy flame, it was really quite something, although of course us Malfoys see greater spectacles every week if we want to - oh, hello, Harry!"

"Draco," Harry said weakly. "What-"

"Don't be modest, Harry," Draco scolded him. "I knew you were a master wizard from the moment you summoned that invisible servant to fetch Neville's Remembrall for you. Truly rather impressive - more than enough to excuse a few foibles, don't you think?"

"But-" Harry gaped at him. "Draco, it was just a poking finger! You're the one who said that spell was stupid! You said I should just have used _Arresto Momentum!_ "

"To avoid revealing your genius to the world before it was ready, of course," Draco said smoothly. He turned back to his crowd of admirers. "He asked if he could be my second-in-command, you know," he told them loftily. "But I told him I just wasn't ready for that sort of commitment yet." The listening Slytherins ooh'd and aah'd approvingly.

"Mad. Everybody's gone mad," Harry muttered despairingly. He searched around for his other friends. Crabbe and Goyle were mixed in with Draco's admirers, of course, while Blaise and Daphne had congregated around Tracey and appeared to be giving her increasingly enthusiastic suggestions. Harry shuddered. Theo, lurking in a corner, met his eyes for a second before nodding respectfully and melding into the shadows.

Marvolo *still* hadn't stopped laughing.

_I'm going to go hide in the bathroom,_ Harry thought. _Usually works._

_If I were you,_ Marvolo said between breathless cackles, _I'd focus on promoting the 'unholy flame' story. It would be much better for recruitment than the romance, which will carry with it only inevitable disappointment._

Harry wasn't sure whether to be insulted by that or not. _Marvolo, for the last time, I don't want a legion-_

_You could always ask Severus for advice._ Marvolo snickered uncontrollably.

Harry was *never* going to come out of the bathroom.

***

Harry gratefully accepted a cup of tea from Hagrid, cradling the large mug between the palms of his hands. "Nobody else would listen when I told them it was an accident," he said mournfully. 

"Don't yer worry, now," Hagrid said gruffly, giving him a soothing pat on the head. "It'll blow over eventually."

Harry looked up at him hopefully. "It sounds like you're speaking from experience, Hagrid. Did everything blow over for you?"

Hagrid looked embarrassed. "Well, no. They snapped me wand, y'see." At Harry's horror-struck expression, he hastened to add: "But don' worry. Dumbledore won't let anythin' happen ter you. Great man, Dumbledore."

Harry wished he shared Hagrid's faith in him. "He said I should get fatherly advice from Professor Snape," he said hesitantly. 

Even Hagrid looked a little taken aback at that. "I'm sure he knows what he's doin'," the big man said at last. "He must have a plan, you'll see."

"Maybe he's distracted by that vault robbery," Harry sighed. "Oh, yeah, I met your dog the other day. The three-headed one."

"Fluffy!" Hagrid gasped. "'E's just a big sweetie, isn't he? Wait! How did yer know? He's a secret!"

"It was an accident!" Harry said automatically. To his credit, Hagrid didn't seem even the slightest bit skeptical, taking him fully at his word.

"How's he doin'? Is he happy?" Hagrid said urgently. "I take him food and play with'im from time ter time, but it's really not the same..."

"He's...good, I guess," Harry said, deciding that the details of his adventure with Draco and Blaise were best left unspoken. "Cerberuses are guard dogs, right? I'm sure he's happy guarding whatever was in Dumbledore's vault."

"Here, now, don't you concern yourself wi' that!" Hagrid said, alarmed. "Whatever's in that vault is between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel-" He clapped his hands over his mouth. "Shouldn't'a said that," he muttered guiltily.

_Flamel,_ Marvolo hissed, with all of the fervor of a prayer. _Potter. We must retrieve Dumbledore's treasure. Immediately._

_I thought you said it was a stupidly obvious trap,_ Harry argued.

_Don't you see, Potter?_ Marvolo said urgently. _The bait can only be one thing. It is the key to my resurrection!_

_The trap is for you?_ Harry thought, shocked. _You mean Dumbledore knows you're here?_

_Well. Not *precisely*,_ Marvolo hedged. _There are many properties of the Stone that would make someone desire it. The trap is for Quirrell, but we will snatch the prize from under both their noses._

_I'm going to have to get your word that you won't try to kill me when you're released,_ Harry thought uneasily.

_But of course-_

_At *any point* after you're released,_ Harry clarified.

Marvolo sighed. _You really are an irritant, Potter. But-_ He thought for a moment. _I will, of course, require the same oath from you. No killing, maiming, or active foiling of my evil plans._

_Same on my end, and you've got a deal,_ Harry thought, relieved.

_Excellent,_ Marvolo purred, brimming with dark delight.

"Don' worry, Harry," Hagrid said again, apparently mistaking his silence for anxiousness. "It'll all be okay."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said gratefully, smiling at his friend. "For everything." Maybe he would hang out here a bit more, if it was all right with Hagrid. After all, the Common Room was probably going to be a write-off for the foreseeable future.

And Harry had some serious plotting to do.

***

"Potter!" Snape snapped, freezing Harry in his tracks as he turned to flee after depositing his potion vial on the man's desk. "Stay behind after class."

"But-" Harry cast about frantically for an excuse. "But I've got an extra credit project for Professor McGonagall-"

Snape's glare seemed sufficient to eviscerate any rivals on its own. _"Stay. Behind."_

Harry gulped, staring at the vial and knowing that his classmates were slowly filing out behind him. Perhaps there was a small chance that this was about Potions advice-

The door slammed shut behind Neville, and Harry's hopes were instantly dashed. "I have been considering the Headmaster's...suggestion." Snape choked out the words, mouth twisting savagely.

"Please, sir, I won't do it again!" Harry cried. "You really don't need to-"

"Stop whining, you ungrateful brat. I'm giving you advice, not expelling your entrails. Yet," Snape snapped. He closed his eyes, massaging his temples for a moment. When he spoke again, every word came out slowly, reluctantly, as if around a mouthful of broken glass. "I understand," he said, measuring his words out carefully, "that you have developed a...close friendship...with a girl from Gryffindor-"

"Oh, but that's all right, Professor!" Harry blurted out, relieved. "She's my goon!"

Snape's voice was glacial. "I beg your pardon, Potter?"

"She's...my minion?" Was he using the wrong word? "My hired thug?"

Snape's face fell into his palm with an audible smack. "Just get out, Potter," he said wearily, shaking his head.

"Yes, sir!" Harry said with alacrity, happy to oblige.

_I think that was actual advice,_ Marvolo said, incredulity staining his voice. _He really *has* gone soft._

_What, 'get out?' Nice and simple, just the way I like it._ Harry was far too relieved to question anything too closely. _Anyways, now that *that's* over with, we can get to the first step of our master plan._

_*Our* master plan?_ Marvolo said warily.

_I provide the body, I take half the credit,_ Harry thought cheerfully. Now that he'd extracted a promise from Marvolo to safeguard against his messy demise, he was in a much better mood about the whole set-the-evil-wizard-free thing.

Marvolo sighed. _Since it will be impossible to persuade you otherwise, what are you thinking?_

Harry marched forward determinedly. It really was a great plan, brilliant in its simplicity, if he did say so himself.

_First,_ he told Marvolo, a smile of anticipation playing across his face, _we find Weasley._


	9. Naughty or Nice

_This is the worst plan ever,_ Marvolo hissed sullenly.

_Oh, like I haven't heard that before,_ Harry thought, rolling his eyes. _Oh, wait! I have! Only thirty-six times!_

_Thirty-seven,_ Marvolo corrected him, even sulkier than before.

_Look,_ Harry thought impatiently, _for the last time, I'm not going to hurt Hagrid's pet. This is the best way to get what we want without harming Fluffy._

_Oh, what touching concern,_ Marvolo said, voice dripping with venom. _Why don't you just rip off your arms and feed them directly to the slavering murder machine? Cut out the middle man, as it were._

Harry sighed. This was clearly going nowhere productive. Maybe it was time to approach things from a different angle. _Okay,_ he tried. _So if killing Fluffy is so easy, why hasn't Quirrell done it already?_

Silence was his only answer. 

_You didn't think about that, did you?_ he thought, trying very hard to keep the smugness from his mind. 

_Of course I did,_ Marvolo said, a little too quickly. 

_And?_ Harry prompted after a few seconds. 

_I was formulating my thoughts,_ Marvolo said frostily. 

Harry relished the few moments of silence as he waited politely for Marvolo to speak again. 

_There could be any number of reasons why Quirrell isn't killing him,_ Marvolo grumbled. _Surveillance by Dumbledore, perhaps. An alarm set to trigger in case of trouble. The fact that any failed attempt would result in being messily devoured._

_See, all of those sound like great reasons why we_ shouldn't _hurt Fluffy,_ Harry pointed out. 

_Oh, shut up, Potter. Nobody likes a know-it-all._

In a display of wisdom far beyond his eleven years of life, Harry managed to refrain from thinking anything in response. 

They'd finally reached the door, to his great relief. Nervously, Harry adjusted his grip on the bucket he was carrying as he pulled out his wand, doing his best to ignore Marvolo's sullen whining. He slipped inside, hastily pulling out a fistful of slugs from the bucket and thanking Merlin that he'd been able to convince Weasley to teach him the _Slugulus Eructo_ spell. 

"Here, Fluffy!" he said, voice quavering slightly as the dog narrowed its six eyes at him. "Who's a good non-dismembering boy? You are! I really, really hope you are!" 

Two of the dog's heads snapped the slugs Harry threw out of the air with alacrity, chowing down more-or-less non-murderously. The third, however, did so only grudgingly. A suspicious growl built low in its throat as it narrowed its eyes at the boy standing in front of it. 

"All right!" he said out loud, flinging a few more handfuls of slugs at Fluffy as he retreated backward. "I think that's enough for today, don't you?" Harry barely managed to keep his grip on the bucket as his other hand scrabbled for the doorknob. He launched himself into the hallway with all the grace of a slightly crippled zebra, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as he carefully locked the door behind him. 

_What was_ that _supposed to be?_ Marvolo demanded, disgusted. 

_Erm, what?_ Harry thought in confusion as he counted down the seconds in his head. Between Pansy's talents for ferreting out secrets and a careful survey of some upper-year 'fans' who'd wanted him to sign stuff they could sell for Galleons, he'd gotten a pretty good idea of Filch's usual nightly patrol schedule. That meant the best time to go was- 

-now. Moving as cautiously as he could, he slunk out of the forbidden hallway, looking both ways before he headed off towards the dungeons once more. 

_You heard me,_ Marvolo snapped. 

_I don't get it,_ Harry thought, honestly puzzled. _You're the one who always complains about how stupid this plan is._

_If you do not respect your own dark stratagems, Potter,_ Marvolo said in an irritatingly patronizing tone, _nobody will respect you._

_Yeah, but you don't respect me anyways,_ Harry pointed out. 

Marvolo rolled his metaphorical eyes. _I am not speaking of your superiors, Potter. I refer to your peons. Minions and rivals. The frightened sheep that will cower in terror at your name._

_Oh,_ Harry thought, trying to conceal his guilt. Marvolo was always waxing lyrical on the importance of subjugating the general populace, but Harry had sort of started to tune those particular rants out. _Er...well, it's not as if anyone's going to find out about it, are they? That's the whole point of this plan._

Marvolo sighed. _Which is part of what makes it such a terrible plan. You must demonstrate style, Potter! Commitment! Nobody likes a wishy-washy Dark Lord._

_I_ am _committed!_ Harry clung desperately to the parts of this conversation that made sense. _I've just got other priorities right now. I've got to wrap presents._

_You debase us,_ Marvolo hissed. _These people should be currying_ your _favor, Potter, not the other way around._

_Don't worry,_ Harry thought dryly. _I won't write your name on the tags or anything._ He amused himself briefly with the thought of what Weasley's face would look like if he were to receive an innocuous pink box of chocolates with best wishes from the Dark Wizard Marvolo displayed prominently across its surface. 

_It is unnecessary,_ Marvolo said flatly. _The Longbottom boy would be inordinately pleased with a toothpick, were you to give one to him._

_A toothpick,_ Harry thought, equally flatly. He was pretty sure the Dursleys had given him one of those for a birthday at some point. 

_Why not?_ Marvolo said, openly contemptuous. _You could say it was for...plant stuff._

_Wow. Plant stuff,_ Harry repeated, shaking his head in disgust. _Seriously, Marvolo? You must have been real fun at parties._

_I was the highlight of every social gathering that I attended,_ Marvolo purred. _At the slightest flick of my fingers - or a minor Cruciatus or two, who's counting? - entire fiefdoms would crumble. Ah, how my minions danced at my bidding!_

_And after your demise, one of your best minions sort-of reformed and the other one took up residence in a girls' toilet,_ Harry pointed out, unable to help himself. 

_For the last time, Potter, Slytherin's monster was not_ in _the loo, it was merely accessible by the loo. Big difference,_ Marvolo said frostily. 

_Okay, okay, fine,_ Harry thought, really not wanting to get into this argument again. _I'm still going to try the presents thing, though. Can't really go wrong with presents._

Actually, when Harry thought about it, there were at least three presents with the potential to go horribly wrong. But it was worth a shot, anyways. This was the first time Harry had actually had any money with which to buy people things, and he was determined not to let the small bags of Galleons that a maniacally grinning Tracey had handed him every week go to waste. 

He really, _really_ tried not to think too hard about where that money had come from, though. 

__In the back of his mind, Marvolo was very loudly making his opinion of the holiday season very clear. Distracted by both Marvolo's ranting and his own scattered thoughts, Harry failed to pay any particular attention to his surroundings._ _

__And, as such, he completely missed the shadowy figure dogging his footsteps, who faded away with a delighted cackle just as he slipped back into the Slytherin dorms._ _

____

***

Despite his best efforts, Harry woke a little later than usual. Dudley usually woke the entire house with his thundering yells of delight, but at Hogwarts, the only other boy left in the dorm over the Christmas break was Blaise. He was still buried in a pile of blankets, snoring softly, completely heedless of the enormous pile of presents stacked up by the foot of his bed.

Harry's eyes widened in astonishment as he peered over the edge of his own four-poster.

_I've got presents, too!_ he thought in astonishment.

_Good,_ Marvolo grunted. _At least some of your minions have the right priorities._

Harry ignored him, carefully lifting the packages one-by-one onto the bed. With a quick glance over at Blaise, he carefully lifted the first box, elegantly wrapped in silver-and-green packaging, and peeled back the paper as quietly as he could.

Draco had gotten him that book on wizarding genealogy that he'd promised, with a neatly penned note suggesting that he pay special attention to the family tree of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Whoever they were, Harry knew Draco well enough to be pretty sure that he was in their number. He hoped that Draco would like the Quidditch gloves that he'd gotten him in return. His delight steadily increased as he unwrapped, in short order: a handcarved flute from Hagrid, with a little snake carved near the mouthpiece; a formal calligraphy set from Pansy; a book of amusing and humiliating curses for your enemies from Blaise; and an incredibly thoughtful collection of freshly preserved plant cuttings that could be used for Potions from Neville.

_Wow,_ he thought, stunned. He'd been fairly confident about the potted Wiggentree cutting he'd bought for Neville, but now it seemed insufficient in comparison. He made a mental note to thank Neville in person for the gift.

"Merlin, Harry," Blaise groaned, folding his pillow over his head. "Why are you awake? Why am _I_ awake?"

"Sorry," Harry said guiltily, setting the jar of cuttings down. "I was trying to be quiet, but-" Helplessly, he indicated the stack of presents with his hand, unable to hide his grin.

"What?" Blaise said sleepily. "Oh. Presents." Still wrapped in a blanket cocoon, he shuffled over to his pile, digging through the packages until he found Harry's gift. "Huh," he said approvingly, turning over the enchanted mirror Harry had gotten him. "Nice."

"Thanks for the book, Blaise," Harry said.

Blaise waved him off with one hand. "As long as you use it on Weasley, there's no need for thanks."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, smiling. "You've got a lot of presents, Blaise!"

"Most of them are from my mother," Blaise said, shrugging. "What's that one you've got there?" He indicated the slightly wrinkled envelope on Harry's bed.

"What?" Harry said, distracted by the box of chocolate frogs that Hermione had gotten him. "Oh, this," he said, lifting the envelope uncertainly. His Christmas gift from the Dursleys was twenty pounds, accompanied only by a tersely written: _Dear Harry, Merry Christmas._ on the outside. "It's...not really anything. A joke gift, really." He felt a little guilty at saying that - after all, this was one of the best gifts they'd ever given him - but he really didn't think it would be a good idea for his yearmates to find out that he lived with Muggles.

_So thoughtful,_ Marvolo hissed sarcastically. _Those relatives of yours are going to be trouble, Potter. They lack proper respect._

_It's a great gift, by their standards,_ Harry protested, stuffing the envelope into his pocket.

_It is an insult, and you delude yourself if you think otherwise. Giving them a gift in return only shows your weakness._

_It's a gesture of goodwill!_ It had taken him quite a while to find an unenchanted pan that he could send to Aunt Petunia. He was reasonably confident that she'd like it, if she bothered to keep it. He'd also sent a box of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans for Dudley. Harry secretly rather hoped that he'd get a few vomit-flavoured ones while he was eating them by the handful. It wasn't like he could complain to Aunt Petunia without confessing that he'd eaten Harry's wizard candy, after all.

Marvolo was unimpressed. _Muggles cannot comprehend goodwill. They are not like you or I, Potter. The sooner you understand that-_

"Oh, look!" Harry said out loud, picking up the last package. "This one isn't labelled."

"Could be a secret admirer," Blaise said, snickering.

Harry shuddered. "I hope not." He eyed the package dubiously. It seemed innocent enough, but who knew what it could contain? "D'you suppose it could be cursed, or something?"

"Merlin, you're paranoid, Harry," Blaise said, rolling his eyes. He marched over to Harry, blankets trailing behind him. "Give it here-" His yearmate's voice cut off abruptly as he gaped at the mass of silvery material within. With a gasp of horror, Harry watched his friend's fingers dissolve into nothingness.

"Blaise!" Harry shouted, leaping for his wand. "Get back!"

"Relax, you idiot, it's not cursed," Blaise said, almost absent-mindedly. "It's an Invisibility Cloak!" Before Harry could so much as shout a warning, Blaise draped the entire thing over his head, vanishing completely from sight. A slip of paper fluttered to the ground.

_So,_ Marvolo said grimly as Harry scanned the note. _Our opponent makes his move._

_Who's it from?_ Harry thought cautiously, squinting at the writing. _Quirrell?_

_Worse,_ Marvolo said darkly. _I wonder if your nighttime excursions have been detected?_

_So it_ is _a trap, then?_ Harry asked. He'd planned to make his move tonight, but if Marvolo's enemies were on to them-

He was distracted from his thoughts by Blaise tossing the cloak back at him. "I don't much like being invisible," the other boy said, sounding a bit perturbed. "Doesn't do much for my hair." Harry had to agree with him.

Harry allowed Blaise to drag him down to breakfast, barely allowing him time to pack the cloak and his other presents into his trunk. Even though the Great Hall was largely deserted, the walls and tables were liberally festooned with decorations, and the atmosphere was both cheerful and calm at the same time.

That made the rest of the day's encounters all the more horrifying.

***

"POTTER!"

Harry froze in his tracks, wondering whether or not he should start running.

"Don't even think about it, Potter," Professor Snape hissed malevolently. Slowly, Harry turned around to stare into his Potions Professor's livid face, one eye twitching madly.

"Y-yes, Professor?" Harry said, hastily dropping his gaze.

"What, Potter," Snape intoned, each word ending in a rather impressive snarl, "do you call _this?"_ The man thrust one thickly-gloved hand forward. Harry recognized the vial that he was holding immediately.

"It's...a Christmas present, sir? Happy Christmas, sir," he added belatedly.

Snape's twitching intensified. "Potter, you dunderhead," he hissed. "Are you aware that this is basilisk venom?"

"Er," Harry said, not quite sure where he was going with this. "Well, yes?"

"And," Snape said, sounding even more dangerous by the second, "are you aware that this is therefore a highly corrosive, poisonous, and extraordinarily deadly Class B Non-Tradeable Substance?"

Harry glanced worriedly at the glove. There was no way that it had leaked out, surely? "I made sure I packed it really carefully-" 

"How wonderful," Snape sneered. "An eleven-year old packed the basilisk venom 'really carefully.' Truly, your words inspire confidence."

That definitely didn't sound like a compliment, and Harry really didn't think that telling Professor Snape that Slinky and Hagrid had helped him extract the venom would inspire any more confidence in it.. "Er," Harry said.

"Where did you get this, Potter?"

"I...found it," he blurted out.

_You're a moron, Potter,_ Marvolo sighed.

"You idiot, Potter," Snape snapped.

"I-I mean, I bought it," Harry said. "Legitimately." At Marvolo's groan, he hastily amended his statement. "Er, or at least...kind of legitimately. Sort of."

"I cannot seem to decide who is stupider," Snape murmured. "The moron who supposedly sold an eleven-year old pure basilisk venom, or the eleven-year old who bought it."

"It was a gift-" Harry tried to say.

"Or," Snape said, fixing him with a deadly glare, "the idiot who would actually believe a blatant lie as incoherently constructed as the one you just told. Are you so determined to be a disgrace to Slytherin, Potter?"

Oh, if only he could tell Snape whose basilisk he'd gotten the venom from!

_That does not make you any less of a disgrace,_ Marvolo said smugly. _All the credit for that one goes to me._

_And Hagrid,_ Harry nearly thought back, but he managed to restrain himself just in time. _You're not helping, you know,_ he said instead.

_Yes,_ said Marvolo, even more smugly. _I know._

"No glib answers now, Potter?" Snape said dryly.

"I just wanted to say 'thank you,'" Harry said desperately.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "For what?"

Well, he would be in trouble no matter what he said, so he might as well tell the truth. "For not giving me advice," he said earnestly, following it up with his best smile.

Snape stared at him. He stared at Snape. "And so," Snape said slowly, "you decided to give me literally priceless, one-hundred percent pure basilisk venom. For _not_ advising you."

Harry cringed. Of course it sounded bad when he put it like that. "Yes?" he squeaked.

Snape leaned forward, enunciating every word. "Since you seem to be so enamored of it, here is some life advice for you, Potter. Never in my life have I met anyone so utterly incompetent at both telling the truth _and_ lying. It would be almost impressive, were it not such a depressing indication of the state of today's youth."

_Oh, come off it,_ Marvolo scoffed. _He's younger than I am._

_So you disagree?_ Harry thought, perking up.

_Obviously not, Potter,_ Marvolo snorted. _I merely include his generation in that description as well._

_Great,_ Harry thought glumly, deflating again.

"Choose one, and improve at it. Fast. Otherwise, with your propensity for running your mouth, this ditzy pint-sized celebrity act will only lead you to a nasty and sudden end." His lips twisted unpleasantly. "Do I make myself clear, Potter?"

Harry stared at his chin, eyes wide. "Crystal clear, sir!"

Snape grunted. "Better," he said grudgingly. Without another word, he spun on his heel and strode rapidly away, leaving Harry gaping after him.

_Told you so,_ Marvolo said. _You've got to be decisive._

All Harry could think about was that, if Dumbledore really thought that Snape gave good advice, the Light side was completely doomed.

_I'm going to go back to the dorm and lie down,_ he thought faintly, turning around and picking up speed. _For a couple hours. Or days. Or something, who's counting-_

He ran smack dab into the figure that had been lurking ominously at the end of the hall for some unspecified amount of time.

"M-m-mister _Potter,"_ Quirrell said with a manic smile, barely audible over Marvolo' sudden screams. "What an unexpected p-p-p-pleasure!"

***

For someone as pale and thin as Quirrell was, his grip was incredibly strong. Harry looked around the empty halls desperately as Quirrell dragged him along, digging his heels in to no avail.

"I've got to get back to my dorm, Professor," he gasped, trying fruitlessly to free his wrist from the relentless grip of Quirrell's fingers. "I-I've got detention with Professor Snape; if I'm not there in five minutes he'll be _really_ mad."

"Detention on Christmas day, Potter?" Quirrell laughed cruelly, voice entirely free of its usual stutter. "I don't think so."

_Don't let him get you alone,_ Marvolo shrieked.

"Let me go, Professor," Harry said loudly, pulling again at his fingers. Quirrell didn't stop walking. "Let me GO!" Finally, Quirrell stopped, laughing incredulously at the sight of Harry's wand trained on his arm.

"Oh, I'm so scared," he said mockingly. "What are you going to do, little boy? Hex me?"

A reckless sort of bravery rose in Harry's chest, bolstered by Marvolo's unending screams. "I killed that troll easily enough, didn't I? Maybe you _should_ be scared."

Quirrell laughed again. "Oh, but I just want to talk, Potter," he wheedled. "I'm h-h-h-h-harmless!" He ruined the effect with another crazed laugh, eyes disconcertingly wide.

This was it, Harry thought, a cold feeling of terror in the pit of his stomach. This was exactly the sort of situation that Snape had been talking about just a few minutes ago, and he was already heading straight towards an unpleasant demise. _"In-"_ Harry began.

Quirrell made an aborted lunge for him, sending Harry scrambling backward, keeping his wand hand as far away from Quirrell as he could. It was no good - Quirrell's hand brushed his fingers, and-

With a strangled scream, Quirrell fell backward, finally releasing the sleeve of Harry's robe. Harry stared disbelievingly at the tips of Quirrell's fingers, which were bright red, as if they'd been burnt. _Can an aborted Incendio do that?_ he asked Marvolo urgently.

_No, Potter, it's you,_ Marvolo said instantly. _No time to explain. Keep close - he can't touch you, but if he gets his wand-_

Harry darted forward, and was gratified to see Quirrell take a cautious step back, hiding his hand behind his back.

"Go away," Harry snarled, trying to stop his voice from trembling.

"You're up to something, Potter," Quirrell said menacingly, stopping Harry in his tracks. "Do you think I don't know? Your little excursions to the forbidden corridor, trying to get past Dumbledore's traps?" His lips peeled back from his teeth in a grin. "Foolish, to think you could beat me to the prize."

"What prize?" Harry said automatically. Quirrell tutted, shaking his head.

"I was going to offer you a place at my side, you know," he said, gesturing grandiosely. "But your true place is in the dirt, Potter, with your poor, rotting parents-"

"You-" Harry gasped, unable to believe what he'd just heard. He stepped forward again, noticing with a vague satisfaction the expression on Quirrell's face shifting to slack-jawed terror, his arms raised in front of him to protect himself-

Wait. Shouldn't he be running away? Why was Quirrell suddenly-

"MR. POTTER!"

"Oh, M-M-Minerva!" Quirrell stuttered, appearing quite convincingly weak and frail once more.

"WHAT is going on here?" Minerva McGonagall thundered. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed an armored figure slip back into one of the portraits lining the wall. "When Sir Cadogan summoned me, I almost didn't believe it, but _this-"_

"Professor McGonagall," Harry said desperately, "he-"

"I-I'm afraid Mr. P-P-Potter's gone quite mad!" Quirrell said, voice quavering. He held his hands out in front of him, clutching dramatically at his singed fingers. "I suspected he may have p-plagiarized an assignment, and he h-h-hexed me when I tried to question him!"

"That's a lie!" Harry said furiously. If he could touch Quirrell, he could prove that it was wrong-

"Stay right there, Mr. Potter!" McGonagall snapped, staring at him with obvious disappointment.

Harry's heart sank. She was buying Quirrell's story completely. "Ask the portrait!" he exclaimed. "It'll tell you - he was threatening me, he said I should be dead-"

"Sir Cadogan ran to fetch me," McGonagall said coldly, "when he saw you pointing your wand at a professor."

"He-but he was dragging me!" Harry cried. "He wouldn't let go - Sir Cadogan must have seen that-"

"That, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, "is the only reason why the Headmaster is not here as well. Never in all my years - have you any idea, Mr. Potter, that assaulting a professor is grounds for expulsion?"

_You panicked,_ Marvolo said urgently.

_What?_

_You panicked,_ Marvolo repeated. _It brought back memories - you saw a flash of green light, you were trapped. You lashed out instinctively. Tell her!_

Praying that it would have some effect, Harry repeated Marvolo's words, doing his best to sell the lie as much as he could. At least he didn't have to fake the tears of panic in his eyes.

McGonagall hesitated, her gaze softening a little. Her mouth was still set in a thin line, however. "Mr. Potter, I understand how much you have been through," she said gently. "But that is no reason to harm another person. _Especially_ not a professor. If you are unable to control your reactions..." She shook her head. "I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Potter."

"I'm sorry," he pleaded.

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," she said sternly.

Harry bowed his head as he turned around, unable to look at Quirrell's face for fear of the malevolent triumph he would find there. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Oh, that's qu-qu-quite all right, Mr. Potter," Quirrell said, false benevolence oozing from his pores. "S-such a _tragedy,_ losing your parents. So unfortunate."

McGonagall frowned slightly, but she didn't say anything. "Detention, Mr. Potter. Every night at 8 for the rest of the holidays. Please remain in your dormitory for now until we figure out what to do with you. I'll escort you back."

"Yes, Professor," he said helplessly. Harry was still in disbelief that this could be happening to him. He felt as if he was going to be sick with every step he took.

Then, he made the mistake of glancing back towards Quirrell, whose features were still locked into an expression of trembling worry. Until they weren't. Until all expression slid off his face like water from rock, and a gloating smile of purest evil locked his jaw into a rictus grin.

_Tonight,_ Harry thought, moving closer to McGonagall and trying his best not to shiver.

_He may wait to make his move,_ Marvolo cautioned him. _This is a tricky situation you are in. Dumbledore will be wary of any possible dark influences on you, and-_

_No,_ Harry thought firmly. _Tonight. We're going to get Flamel's stone._

Marvolo was silent for a long, long moment. _I will reward you, Potter,_ he said quietly. _When my body and rightful place in society are restored, you will have a seat by my side. As a court jester, perhaps, or village idiot. So at least you have a backup career plan._

_Right,_ Harry thought, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. Maybe that was a good thing.

It really sounded like he was going to need one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Things got a little rough for our hero at the end there. Will he be able to foil Quirrellmort's nefarious plans and salvage his reputation, with just a little help from his friends? Hopefully the answer will be revealed later this week! :)


	10. The Best-Laid Plans

Minerva McGonagall was, to put it lightly, disturbed.

She'd walked Harry Potter back to the Slytherin dorms in silence, doubt churning in her head. It was hard to believe that this boy, hunched in on himself and so clearly trying not to cry, could have taken such thorough leave of his senses as to hex a teacher. She'd taught him for several months, after all. He'd never so much as passed a note in Transfiguration class, and his assignments, although not indicative of any particularly prodigious talent, were always well-thought out and earnestly written. Aside from that unfortunate incident with the troll, he really resembled his mother far more than he did James Potter.

Her brow creased deeply. That was a big 'aside.'

Still, that had been in defense of a friend, at least. What could have possibly possessed the boy to do something like this?

And then there was Quirinus.

She'd taught him, and had worked alongside him as well. The stutter, the turban, the strange mannerisms that had appeared from nowhere - she had been quite skeptical of them at first. She'd accepted that perhaps, conceivably, they _could_ have been a relic from a vampiric encounter, but privately she'd thought that Quirinus had simply made up a farfetched story to make himself seem more interesting. He'd remained a timid little boy at heart all his life, trying his best to appear to be more than he was but never quite succeeding. So, although she'd been surprised that Albus had allowed him to switch subjects and teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, she had found his desire to teach it plausible enough. Strange, yes, as was everything about him this year, but ultimately plausible.

But physically taking an unwilling student by the wrist and dragging him down the halls?

Now _that_ , she couldn't believe.

And then there was that remark he'd made about Lily and James. The words had been appropriate, but there was something about the way he'd said them that had made her feel...unsettled.

And Harry - no, she had to think of him as Mr. Potter - had claimed that Quirinus had _threatened_ him...

Yes, she thought, conviction firming within her. There was something very wrong with Quirinus Quirrell.

And so, after depositing Mr. Potter back in his dorm and informing Severus of the situation - she'd left him with his head buried in his hands, muttering something about 'life advice' - Minerva went straight to Albus' office to voice her concerns.

Her eyes narrowed as she threw the door open, scanning the conspicuously empty room. On his perch, Fawkes shuffled guiltily.

"Albus, I know you're in here."

Silence. The phoenix looked around the room shiftily, seeming to avoid one direction in particular.

Minerva sighed. "You're hiding behind the desk, aren't you."

More silence.

"This is not about the re-optimized course scheduling." She couldn't help turning a disapproving eye on the untouched stack of papers on the corner of Albus' desk. "This is very important, Albus. I believe that there may be a grave problem with Quirinus. He and Mr. Potter had an altercation this morning, and I believe-"

Fawkes dove off his perch, swooping down behind the desk. Minerva folded her arms. "-that intervention is needed. Actual, physical intervention. By you."

The phoenix flew back out from beneath the desk, circling above her head twice before depositing a slightly singed note in her hands. "Gone to London?" she read out loud incredulously. "Albus, this is urgent!"

Another swoop. Another note. _No, it isn't._

"Yes, it is!" Minerva snapped.

Fawkes politely tapped the note again with his claw. _No, it isn't._

"Yes, it-" She broke off mid-statement. "This is ridiculous!" she said stridently, marching towards the desk. "You _will_ get out from under that desk and deal with this situation, or, by Morgana, I will-"

With an alarmed squawk, Fawkes dove beneath the desk again. There was a brilliant, golden flash of light that sent Minerva reeling back, covering her eyes. She leaned forward, peering over the table's surface, but Albus had already made his escape.

Minerva's lips compressed into a thin line. "I do so hate it when he does that," she murmured.

Well, let none say that the Head of House Gryffindor took such things lying down. She spun on her heel, striding off towards the Owlery. She was going to write Albus a _very_ strongly worded letter. And then duplicate it a few dozen times with _Geminio._ And then send each letter off with an individual owl, staggered at intervals just unpredictable enough to be irritating. If that didn't bring him running back, nothing would.

Who said that administrative duty did not have its perks?

Yet, alas, there was one major downside.

By the time she went back to the Slytherin dorms to retrieve Mr. Potter for his detention, he was already long gone.

***

"It's going to be okay," Harry repeated to himself as he splashed his face with water. "It's going to be okay." He realized that he was bracing himself for some sort of blistering comment from Marvolo, but it never came.

 _What?_ Marvolo said, giving him a mental shrug. _It's not as if I'd ever want to talk you out of this sweet sacrifice idea you have going. Much appreciated, by the way._

 _You could at least_ try _to be reassuring,_ Harry snapped, nerves fraying thin.

 _I see nothing wrong with this plan,_ Marvolo said unconvincingly. _Good idea, Potter. A shiny gold star for you._

 _How are you so bad at this?_ Harry demanded, aghast. _You're supposed to be good at lying!_

Marvolo sighed. _I can't lower myself to dignify this so-called 'plan' of yours with a decent lie, Potter. I am not even sure it qualifies as a 'plan.' Hmmm...what is an analogy that you might understand? Ah, yes! This is the equivalent of feeding your second-best minion to your pet basilisk!_

Harry didn't even know where to start with that one. _What does that have to do with anything?!_

 _Exactly!_ Marvolo said triumphantly. _It makes no sense! Just like your nonexistent plan!_

Harry's head hurt. _But-_

 _Obviously,_ Marvolo continued, evidently on a roll, _you should always feed your_ worst _minions to the basilisk, instead. Keeps the rest of them on their toes._

 _But..._ Harry had learned long ago that basic appeals to sanity didn't really work on Marvolo. _But wouldn't you run out of minions eventually?_

 _Well, of course, you only do it when you run out of enemies to feed the snake instead,_ Marvolo said, as if it were self-evident. _It's a win-win strategy. This way, you never run out of enemies, either._

_Marvolo, that's even worse than my plan._

_What, blindly hope the angry, killer dog doesn't eat us because we're throwing slugs at it?_ Marvolo snapped. _Oh, excuse my presumptions, Potter. What a_ genius _idea._

Harry knew he was going to regret asking this, but there was no way Marvolo was going to ever shut up otherwise. _Okay, fine,_ he thought resignedly. _What's your idea?_

 _You should always have the upper hand when it comes to your enemies, Potter, not the other way around,_ Marvolo lectured. _Otherwise, they'll show up at the worst possible moment and ruin all your carefully planned diabolical designs._

 _Okay,_ Harry thought cautiously. So far, that made sense.

 _First, then,_ Marvolo continued, _we ambush Quirrell with your invisibility cloak and use the new-and-improved blood-boiling curse to murder him-_

"Okay, NOPE," Harry said out loud. Shaking his head, he headed over to his bed, rummaging through his trunk to retrieve the necessary materials.

 _You haven't even heard the best part!_ Marvolo protested. _We'll dispose of the body by feeding it to the guard dog! Now_ that's _what I call a distraction!_

Harry set his bucket on the floor, turned his wand on himself, and pointedly vomited several slugs into the bucket. _No._

 _Very well,_ Marvolo said sullenly. _We will fall back on the standard cliches. We feed Quirrell to the basilisk-_

With another shake of his head, Harry focused on the soothing sound of slug secretions, tuning Marvolo out.

It was funny, though.

He kind of _did_ feel better.

***

Harry had debated whether or not to leave some sort of note behind, in case Quirrell gruesomely murdered him.

Just in case, he wrote out a short missive and tucked it under Blaise's bottle of nighttime hair treatment, where he would be sure to find it eventually. He'd written all the pertinent facts out concisely:

**Dear Blaise: Sorry to bother you, but if you're reading this, I'm dead because Quirrell (who is evil, by the way) has probably killed me (because he's trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Long story) in the forbidden third-floor corridor (another long story). Anyways, you should probably get Headmaster Dumbledore.**

**P.S. This is Harry, by the way!**

_Nice postscript,_ Marvolo said dryly.

 _Thanks, Marvolo,_ Harry thought, rather surprised. Positive comments from his friend were quite rare, even if this one came tinged with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

_You realize that by the time anyone finds this note, we will be long dead?_

_Or alive,_ Harry countered. _Quirrell won't be able to make his move during the day, when there are teachers around. We'll use the Invisibility Cloak to get a headstart on him. The last thing we need is Headmaster Dumbledore catching us trying to steal the Stone instead of Quirrell._

 _So your priorities, in order, are: the Stone, expulsion, and death,_ Marvolo mused. _I approve._

Harry beamed as he carefully arranged his new invisibility cloak over himself and the bucket he was carrying. _Thanks again, Marvolo. That means a lot._

 _I didn't intend it to,_ Marvolo said, clearly offended.

 _I know,_ Harry thought warmly. Creeping quietly down the stairs, he took up a position right near the entryway to the Slytherin common room. He didn't have to wait long before an excited-looking upper year burst in, unwrapping a scarf from around her neck. He slipped out past her, certain that his escape had gone unnoticed.

The journey to the third-floor corridor was nerve-wracking. Even with Marvolo's unintended reassurance bolstering his confidence, he kept expecting Quirrell to pop out from behind a pillar somewhere and grab onto his arm again. Unconsciously, Harry clutched his bucket a little closer to him as he walked.

Finally, after triple-checking to make sure that Quirrell was nowhere to be seen, he cast a quiet _Alohomora_ and hurriedly entered the forbidden chamber.

There, he encountered his first of many surprises. Unlike the other times he'd entered, Fluffy didn't even seem to notice his presence. _That's weird,_ Harry thought to Marvolo. _He's a dog. Shouldn't he be able to smell me?_

 _He should,_ Marvolo said, mental eyes narrowing. _What an interesting cloak this is._

Well, he didn't have time to think too much about that right now. Maybe this would work to his advantage. Fluffy's giant paws were still stationed right over the trapdoor, but perhaps if the dog got curious...

Without the tempting sight of larger prey, Fluffy was a lot more responsive to the slugs than usual. Sure, he growled a little suspiciously at the flickers of Harry's fingers peeking out from the folds of the cloak as he tossed slugs around with reckless abandon. But in the end, his dog instincts won out.

It actually _was_ sort of cute.

 _Don't you dare start thinking like Hagrid, Potter,_ Marvolo growled.

 _Too late,_ Harry thought happily. With a slight huff of exertion, he heaved the bucket forward, sending slugs raining everywhere. With a joyful bark, Fluffy dashed forward - and, as the dog hurtled towards his newfound bounty, Harry dashed towards the trapdoor, slipping beneath before any of Fluffy's heads could so much as twitch towards him.

He slipped straight into nothingness.

Harry yelped, clutching his cloak tightly around him so as not to lose his grip. Above him, he fancied that he could hear a sudden storm of barks and growls; he shuddered to think of how he was going to get out of here once he was done. Assuming he survived the drop, of course.

 _This is a_ terrible _plan!_ Marvolo shrieked.

 _You're welcome,_ Harry thought indignantly, searching fruitlessly for handholds to slow him down. Marvolo wasn't the one who was about to be crushed into tiny pieces, although he supposed that it would be almost as unpleasant a sensation second-hand as it would be first-hand.

Luckily, his fall was soon cushioned by a mass of writhing, scary-looking vines.

Unluckily, the writhing, scary-looking vines immediately began to thrash furiously, seemingly unhampered by the protection of Harry's Invisibility Cloak. He winced as they tightened painfully around his legs, then frowned as he got a closer look at them.

 _Marvolo,_ he thought hesitantly. _Is...is this really Devil's Snare?_

 _Ye-es,_ Marvolo said slowly, sounding just as suspicious as Harry felt. Experimentally, Harry stopped struggling against the plant's grasp. He breathed a sigh of relief as the vines immediately loosened their hold.

 _Huh,_ Harry thought. _I suppose it's a good thing we learned about this in Herbology class..._ first-year _Herbology class..._

 _There must be some sort of catch,_ Marvolo said suspiciously. _Let me get a good look, Potter. Hidden Chomping Cabbages to bite our fingers off, perhaps, or some sort of deadly trap that activates on exposure to fire..._

Harry's dread mounted higher and higher by the minute as Marvolo dove deeper into his tangent. He knew he couldn't judge his friend too harshly - Harry was a pretty paranoid person himself - but by the time Marvolo began ranting about the difficulties of maintaining a proper acid pool, Harry was completely done with the topic.

 _We can't just lie here forever! I'm going to cast a_ Lumos.

_-all I am saying is that it's no picnic, paying for the upkeep of a respectable lair. Before you know it, the chimeras will have quite literally eaten you out of house and home - wait, what did you just say, Potter?_

Harry truly hoped that they weren't about to be disintegrated. _"Lumos!"_ he cried, flinching along with the retracting vines. To his astonishment, no malevolent Tentaculas or flesh-dissolving arrows jumped out at him. Not wanting to push his luck, he quickly scrambled away from the bed of Devil's Snare, using his wand to illuminate a downward-sloping tunnel that seemed to be the only exit from the room.

 _On second thought, perhaps that was the trap,_ Marvolo mused. _Using a reasonable wizard's paranoia against them to paralyze them with indecision. Quite fiendishly clever, for a Hufflepuff,_ he admitted grudgingly.

Harry didn't think that 'reasonable' was an adjective that could be applied to either of them, but he was too busy nervously scanning the corridor to comment. _We'd better hurry. What if there was some sort of alarm in that room?_

 _I didn't detect anything,_ Marvolo said dubiously. _But perhaps you are right, Potter. Why else would the room be designed to delay rather than directly kill us?_

Harry quickened his pace. _We-_ He stopped abruptly, gasping out loud at the sight of the next room. Unlike the dark, damp environment of the previous chamber, the ceiling here was high and vaulted, and the room itself was filled with brilliant light glinting from the myriad winged keys flitting about within. Harry walked towards the locked door at the other end, wondering if this was a trick similar to the Devil's Snare.

" _Alohomora!"_ he said hopefully. The lock didn't budge in the slightest. Harry's shoulders slumped as he turned around. Well, it had been worth a shot.

 _Brooms,_ Marvolo said darkly.

"Brooms!" Harry said out loud, delighted. He picked one of the brooms up, smiling. Out of all the admittedly wonderful activities at Hogwarts, he enjoyed flying the most. The winged keys made him think of Snitches, and Quidditch, and cheering in the stands with Pansy and the goons while Draco applauded politely, his dignified manner belied by the excitement written all over his face. However, as Harry slowly realized what the presence of the brooms meant, all the joy drained out of him to be replaced by dread.

 _There must be hundreds of keys up there,_ he thought despairingly. _We'll never find the right one before Dumbledore shows up!_

Marvolo cleared his throat. _Or we could just blow up the door, instead._

 _What? Really?_ Harry whirled back around, setting the broom down at his feet. _Marvolo, you're a genius!_

 _I know,_ his friend said immodestly.

Harry took a few moments to go over the incantation, steadying his grip. _Good thing there was an exploding spell in_ Magicke Moste Evile, _huh?_

 _Oh, that's a given,_ Marvolo said dismissively. _It wouldn't be a proper compendium without some new way to blow things up._

 _Right,_ Harry thought. He loosened his wrist, waving his wand. _"Displodo maximo!"_

With an incredibly loud roar, the door shattered into thousands of pieces, showering Harry with a rain of splinters that made him very grateful for his cloak.

Evidently infuriated by the destruction of their door, the gentle flutters of the winged keys changed in pitch. With a maddened hum, the keys drew together in a buzzing flock, then launched themselves at Harry with immense speed. Instinctively, Harry went for the broom rather than making a futile attempt at running. It leaped into his hand as easily as a thought, and then he was off, hurtling blindly into the darkness of the next chamber.

With one hand clutching both cloak and broom and the other frantically attempting to stow his wand away, Harry was barely able to pull himself up in time to avoid slamming into the towering chesspieces that loomed over the suddenly illuminated chessboard in the center of the room. He could hear the pawns jabbering frantically as he shot over their heads, and the sudden clamor as both the white and black chesspieces charged into battle against the swarm of keys.

 _Two problems solved with one explosion!_ Marvolo said enthusiastically. _Good thing we didn't have to play our way across. I hate chess._

Harry readjusted the cloak to cover the broom as best as he could. _You do?_ he thought incredulously. _But...but you're a criminal mastermind! How can you hate chess?_

 _Don't be absurd, Potter,_ Marvolo said, offended. _Criminal masterminds hardly play by the_ rules.

Well, that was a fair enough point. Now more-or-less hidden, Harry opened the door and flew through while the chesspieces were still distracted.

The almost physical wall of stench that assailed him was horrifyingly familiar. The enormous mountain troll that awaited him was even more horrifyingly unfamiliar. It looked all at once bigger, meaner, and more self-aware than the last one he'd faced, and it was standing right in front of the exit, barely visible between its treetrunk-like legs. Harry hovered uncertainly, unsure of what to do. At least it couldn't smell him, or see him.

The troll's eyes narrowed as the door closed behind Harry. It cocked its head as if listening for something, then, with a guttural snarl, lunged forward, hefting its club. Harry realized, belatedly, that it could still _hear_ him.

He whipped his broom to the right, veering up sharply at the last second as he sensed the chunk of debris that the troll hurled after him. Roaring furiously, the troll charged again, club flailing wildly about. Once again, Harry managed to dodge. He feinted to one side, then veered for the door, but was forced to dodge once again as another boulder followed the first. Harry cursed himself for an idiot. His wand was tucked away securely in its holster, and he didn't have even a second to spare to try and retrieve it.

 _Oh, bugger,_ Marvolo said succinctly.

Harry had an idea.

"Come and get me, moron!" he shouted, pulling the cloak down enough to reveal his face.

_Potter, you idiot, what are you doing?_

_Trust me,_ Harry thought, dodging the first frenzied swing. He was surprised at how natural it felt to be flying, as if the broom was an extension of his own self. He hovered enticingly just beyond the troll's reach, ducking just beneath the club, watching the insane rage in its eyes grow from an ember to a roaring flame. Ignoring Marvolo's screams, he put on a sudden burst of speed, smiling as he heard the lumbering charge behind him. Come on, he thought, come on...

Harry turned on a dime, speeding along the wall just before he would have slammed straight into it. The troll was not so dexterous. With a crunching impact, its charge led it straight into the stone, sending spiderwebbing cracks along its surface and sending the troll straight down towards the ground. Before it could regain its senses, Harry had already flown through the exit door.

His flight came to an abrupt halt, however, as immense black flames sprang up before his eyes. Recoiling from the heat, Harry turned around, touching his broom down only to watch as purple flame rose to block the door behind him. There was no turning back.

 _Ah, this must be Severus' trap!_ Marvolo said, sounding inexplicably delighted. _I wonder what nasty little surprise he has cooked up this time? Will you be forced to make a sadistic choice, maiming yourself in order to progress? Oh, or perhaps a timed explosion of those vials due to the heat!_

 _I think it's a logic puzzle,_ Harry interjected, frowning as he studied the parchment laid out on the table of potions.

 _What?!_ Marvolo's fury grew as he scanned the puzzle. _Nettle wine? NETTLE WINE? What is this-this travesty? He's gone soft! I knew it!_

 _Calm down, Marvolo,_ Harry thought desperately, but his friend's shrieks only grew louder.

 _I bet those poisons don't even result in a_ slow _death!_

 _So do you know which ones have the poison in them?_ Harry asked hopefully.

 _All of them would, if this little game was_ logical, Marvolo said sullenly. _There is nothing logical about actually having an answer._

 _Right,_ Harry thought, wincing. He'd forgotten - dark overlords typically had minions to deal with annoying little trifles such as logic for them. It was up to him, then. Sighing, he pored over the parchment, going through each clue in turn. Marvolo chimed in occasionally - his comments were largely unhelpful, but he did have flashes of insight from time to time, in between hurling insults at Snape.

In the end, Harry was reasonably sure that their answers were correct. He tucked the purple bottle into his robe pocket - he'd need it to get out of here, after all - and, bracing himself, took a sip from the smallest flask before stowing it in his pocket as well. He didn't keel over immediately, to his delight, and when he tentatively reached out to poke the black flames, they parted without resistance.

 _Seven protections,_ Marvolo hissed. _We must be close._

 _It looks like there's one more._ Harry warily circled the large mirror standing innocuously in the center of the room. It was rather ornate, and clearly looked important, but Harry couldn't quite tell what the catch was. For lack of anything better to do, he peered cautiously into the mirror, unable to stifle a cry at what he saw.

"Are they...are they my family?" he whispered. Surely they had to be. The smiling red-haired woman with a hand on his right shoulder had his eyes, and the messy-haired man standing beside her had...well, pretty much everything else of his. His heart lurched as he saw Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley behind them, waving and grinning as well. He'd never seen them look at him like that. And behind them, trailing off into the distance -

Old men, and old women; no-one he recognized, but he somehow instinctively knew who they were. They were his family, and they all loved him. They all cared about him, and were happy to see him.

And, on his left-

 _Is that supposed to be_ me? Marvolo squawked. _Why do I have such a disgustingly insipid smile on my face? Potter! Get rid of it this instant!_

 _Is that really what you look like, Marvolo?_ Harry squinted his eyes to try and get a better look, but the image was strangely blurry. From what he could make out, Marvolo had dark, well-kept hair and sharp, coldly elegant-looking features. Well, cold except for his smile, which was as loving and joyous as that of Harry's other family members.

Nobody stood behind Marvolo.

 _No,_ Marvolo snapped. _I am terrifying in both aspect and demeanor, obviously. I would never be caught dead looking like that._

 _Oh,_ Harry thought sadly. Maybe the images of his parents weren't real, then. But, just as he thought that, his mother squeezed his reflection's shoulder, and he found that he no longer cared whether the mirror was accurate or not.

 _Snap OUT of it, Potter!_ Marvolo shrieked at maximum volume, causing Harry to break his gaze with the mirror as he winced. _It's obviously a trap! Dumbledore has put the mirror here to delay us!_

Harry couldn't help himself. He glanced back at the mirror, relieved to see that the image hadn't changed. _But they're my family,_ he whispered. _I've never seen them - just for a few minutes-_

_Look at the inscription, Potter! 'I show not your face, but your heart's desire!'_

Reluctantly, Harry tore his gaze away for just long enough to scan the top of the mirror. It took him a few seconds, but once he realized the trick, he saw that Marvolo was right.

Still, what did it matter?

_This is pathetic, Potter. Nothing here is real._

Harry's eyes flickered to the Dursleys, welcoming him with open arms. _I know,_ he thought.

 _Listen, Potter,_ Marvolo said. _Your parents are dead. They can never be brought back. But_ I _am real, Potter. With the Philosopher's Stone, we will be immortal. We will make the earth our dominion, ruling as kings-_

_I thought I was going to be court jester?_

_You can have Madagascar or something,_ Marvolo said generously. _That is besides the point, Potter. Part of that image can be real. Buy your filthy relatives' affection, if you so wish. Appoint your pureblooded cousins as ministers. You can have it all - all we need is the Stone-_

And Harry saw it. There, in his reflection's hands, clasped in front of him, was a blood-red stone. It didn't look particularly impressive - rough-hewn and jagged - except for the flame that seemingly flickered within its dark depths. He looked down at his own hands, but there was nothing in them. He looked back at the mirror; reached out to touch first his mother's cheek, prompting a sad smile, and then the Stone. Still nothing.

Harry slipped off the Cloak to see better, wishing for the Stone with all his might. Still no change. He just needed this one, small thing - just this, and then he could stay with his family for as long as he wanted. In the mirror, James Potter smiled encouragingly. Harry smiled back, striving harder for the Stone, but to no avail. His stomach dropped. He knew that his father in the mirror would never be disappointed in him; would never look at him with anything but that same unconditional love, but he didn't want to fail at the only task his father would ever be able to watch him do-

_They're not real, Potter._

Tears of frustration gathered in Harry's eyes, refusing to be blinked away. Why _couldn't_ they be real? The Stone was a real thing, wasn't it? So why couldn't his parents be real, too?

_Potter-_

Why didn't his only living family in the world love him? Was there something wrong with him? Was that why-

_Potter! Look out!_

-it wasn't fair, magic could do so many things, why _shouldn't_ it be able to bring people back to life-

_POTTER!_

"Got you," Quirrell's voice rasped, haughty and gloating.

With a wave of Quirrell's wand, Harry was ripped away from his position in front of the mirror; sent flying backward so that the breath left his lungs as he impacted the wall. Almost absently, Quirrell conjured ropes out of thin air, slithering in coils around Harry's legs and torso. They were just tight enough to hurt.

"How-" Harry croaked.

"Surprised, Potter?" Quirrell let out a maniacal laugh. He looked significantly worse for wear. One arm dangled uselessly at his side, his robes and turban were singed, and blood from several tiny cuts spattered his face. But, even despite all that, he'd still overpowered Harry like it was nothing. "You really shouldn't be. I followed you in, after all."

"What?" Harry truly didn't understand. He'd been so careful. Could Quirrell have seen through the invisibility cloak?

The man sneered as he caught sight of the silvery mass on the ground, kicking it aside as though it were nothing. "A nice toy, Potter. You didn't think I was _blind,_ did you? I could see the door to the corridor opening well enough, little boy."

"Fluffy," Harry gasped, alarmed.

A vicious scowl distorted Quirrell's features. "Stupid creature. If it hadn't been distracted by that conjuration of yours, it would have had me. But it didn't, did it?" He giggled disturbingly.

"I...I don't understand." Harry strained against the ropes, but they barely budged.

"St-st-stuttering, Potter?" Quirrell mocked him.

Harry took as deep a breath as he could. "If you could have gotten past the traps all this time, why did you wait so long?"

Quirrell blinked, nonplussed. "Wait? Why wouldn't I wait, when you so generously did all the work for me?"

 _Wait, what?_ Marvolo shrieked.

 _It's my fault,_ Harry thought. He felt even worse than he had when McGonagall had given him that look of utter disappointment in the hallway.

 _Potter, he just admitted that he was unable to get past traps that an eleven-year old boy passed through without harm,_ Marvolo said, sounding stunned. _Am I-has he truly fallen to such a state?_

 _Wait,_ Harry thought, frowning. _So maybe the reason he didn't kill Fluffy isn't that he thought it was a trap. Maybe it's because he actually couldn't._

 _This is unbelievable,_ Marvolo fretted, still shocked. _How can this be?_

Harry's mind was racing. He'd thought that Quirrell had dragged him down the halls just to intimidate him. But he hadn't pulled his wand on Harry, either. Perhaps he really was too weak to do so? And, if that was the case - if Harry could get his wand -

He peeked at Quirrell, who seemed to have forgotten about Harry entirely. He was pacing back and forth in front of the mirror, muttering agitatedly to himself. It sounded like he had the same problem that Harry had had, although his constant mentions of a 'master' were kind of worrying.

Harry redoubled his efforts to escape his bonds. They were tight, yes, but rather lackadaisically spaced. Trapping one arm beneath his body, he tried to scrape his arm along the floor to push his wand from its holster. Relief filled him as his fingers brushed its handle. Now he just needed to get his hand free - almost there...

"The boy...use the boy..."

Harry froze. That jagged, sinister voice wasn't Quirrell's. It belonged to nothing good. In horror, he watched his former tormentor reduced to tears, sobbing brokenly as he unwound his turban with shaking fingers.

_This is really bad, Potter._

_I know, Marvolo!_ There was one small blessing - with Quirrell distracted, the ropes had slackened. Harry managed to wriggle his hand free, closing it around the handle.

"Harry Potter," the nightmarish, distorted face on the back of Quirrell's head hissed. In Harry's own head, Marvolo spat out a litany of curses that would have sent Aunt Petunia running for a bar of soap. "We meet again."

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted out, unable to stop himself. "I think I would remember if I'd met you-"

"I am Lord Voldemort," the face said, and Harry's blood turned to ice. "You see what I have become? See what I must-"

"You killed my parents!" Harry shouted furiously.

"Oh, do shut up about that, boy," Voldemort snapped. "As I was saying - I must live off another, a mere parasite..."

But Harry was no longer listening. Harry was staring at Lord Voldemort's face. A face with no hair, no nose, no ears.

A face with _no eyebrows._

Harry snapped his wand out, pointing it towards the horrific apparition. _"SUPERCILIA COMBUSTIO!"_ he screamed.

Voldemort's eyes, and behind them, Quirrell's skull, burst into flame.

Quirrell screamed. Harry screamed. Voldemort screamed. Marvolo screamed, but that didn't really count, since he'd never stopped screaming in the first place.

Quirrell collapsed, the back of his head a smoking ruin. To Harry's horror, _something_ blackened and wizened rose from the Defense Professor's body, a wraith terrifying in both aspect and demeanor. It dove straight for him. Harry cried out in pain, clutching his head as it passed through him. Yet, with a shriek, the spirit tore itself away, seemingly unable to bear his touch. Harry collapsed to the ground, wand rolling from his slack fingers. He felt dizzy, and tired, and weak. But Quirrell was still there; Quirrell was still dangerous, and he still hadn't managed to retrieve the Stone. Trembling, Harry tried to drag himself forward, but for some reason, his limbs felt so heavy. Hard to move.

Vaguely, as if from a great distance, he heard the grinding of rock on rock-

And then there was only darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Quirrellmort! You will (not) be missed.
> 
> Next up: some brief scenes of aftermath, during which we'll be happily jumping right off the rails! :)
> 
> Thanks to the amazing Duinemerwen for being my idea-bouncer/brainstormer for this fic! This chapter wouldn't have managed to finally come together without her help :)


	11. Out of the Frying Pan

Harry's awareness returned to him slowly, in fits and stutters. Wherever he was, it was pleasantly warm and cushioned, and far less panic-inducing than his previous location.

Oh, and he probably wasn't dead. That was a big plus.

His vision was alarmingly fuzzy at first. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to forcefully blink the world into focus.

_Potter, wait-_

Oh. Oh, _no._

He was in the Hospital Wing, tucked into a bed, and a blurry Albus Dumbledore was beaming benevolently at him from the chair next to his bedside.

"I can explain everything," Harry blurted out, even though he really couldn't.

The Headmaster politely ignored this statement. "You may need these," he said instead, passing Harry his glasses.

"Thanks, sir," Harry said, slipping them onto his face. "So, er..." His voice trailed off as he caught sight of what appeared to be an impressive stack of letters on the stand beside his bed.

The Headmaster followed his gaze. "Mr. Zabini was very worried when he found the, ah, interestingly worded note you left him. I believe he wrote to your friend, Ms. Parkinson, describing its contents with great indignation. So, naturally, half the school probably knows by now."

Harry's head whirled. He wanted very, very badly to ask what had happened to the Stone, but above all, he needed to find out exactly how much trouble he was in first. "So...so Blaise told you where I was after he found the note?"

"He tried to," the Headmaster said, spreading his hands. "But alas, I was in London. Urgent business, you see."

"Oh," Harry said, frowning. "Then how...?"

"I was in London, as I said," Dumbledore repeated, giving him another beatific smile. "I most certainly was not lurking in the secret passage leading from my office to the chamber concealing the Philosopher's Stone, ear metaphorically pressed to the door, ready to intervene at a moment's notice if the situation got out of hand."

Harry resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead. Of _course_ it made perfect sense that Dumbledore had set up a way to monitor the whole thing. But...how much had he seen, exactly? Harry couldn't really remember if he'd said anything incriminating or not. "Sir," he said hesitantly, "no offense or anything, but...didn't you think that the Dark Lord Voldemort showing up on the back of Quirrell's head sort of qualified as being 'out of hand?'" He gasped, the memory of Quirrell's body rushing back to him. "Wait! What happened to Quirrell? Did he escape? Did he get the Stone?"

"Relax, dear boy," Dumbledore said soothingly, raising a hand. "You may rest assured that Quirrell most certainly did not escape."

That seemed weirdly non-specific. "So did he get arrested?" Harry asked cautiously. "Do wizards arrest people?"

"Wizards do occasionally arrest people," the Headmaster said gravely, but he took his time before responding further. Eventually, he sighed, shook his head, and said gently: "Mr. Potter, you lit his head on fire."

Harry winced. "Well, I lit Voldemort's _eyes_ on fire," he argued weakly. "I don't think it was quite the same thing."

"Yes," Dumbledore said patiently, "but the back of Professor Quirrell's head happened to be directly attached to said eyes."

A horrible feeling filled Harry's stomach with lead. "But...but that's when you intervened, right? He - I mean, I didn't really..."

Dumbledore sighed. "I am afraid that the possession left Quirinus very weak, Harry. He was unable to withstand the departure of Voldemort's spirit."

Harry gasped in horror. He felt as if he was going to be sick. Not only had he killed someone - a teacher, to boot - but he'd killed him while he'd been attempting to steal a priceless artifact from the Headmaster of the school. Admittedly, Quirrell had been trying to do the exact same thing, but that was besides the point. 

The Dursleys had been right about him all along. He really was an incurably criminal boy.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, cutting through his thoughts. "This is not your fault."

"But it is," Harry said miserably. _It really, really is._

Marvolo scoffed. _Of course it is. Told you we should have just fed him to the basilisk._

"Harry," Dumbledore said, and something about the way he said it snapped Harry out of his spiral of misery. "Listen carefully to me. What you saw in that chamber was no longer a man. Quirinus was consumed by Voldemort's spirit, cursed to eke out a wretched half-existence. I do not think there was very much of Quirinus left in him, only the malevolence of Voldemort."

Harry didn't really want to argue with the Headmaster, but he was pretty sure that that hadn't been the case. "But, sir," he said hesitantly, "I don't think that's true. Voldemort was talking to him like he was a separate person. And he was talking to Voldemort, too-"

"It is an unfortunate side-effect of possession," Dumbledore said gravely, "that the patterns of one mind can affect those of another. Perhaps Quirinus may have thought he was in control, in the beginning. But what was left in the end would have been merely an extension of Voldemort; a puppet of flesh made to carry out his will."

Harry shivered at the thought. "So you're saying that it wasn't really Professor Quirrell's fault, then."

"No, Harry. Quirinus made the foolish choice to seek out Voldemort, in a vain attempt to vanquish him for glory. He made that choice long ago, and, unfortunately, had to suffer for it. And I am sorry that you had to suffer as well, Harry," he said sadly. "It was very brave of you, to face down a dark wizard on your own."

Harry didn't feel particularly brave. Quite the opposite, in fact. Especially since it seemed that Dumbledore had no idea what he'd really been there for. "The Stone, sir," he said tentatively. "It's safe, then?"

"Ah." Dumbledore gave him a small smile. "Do not worry on that account, Mr. Potter. The Stone has been destroyed."

 _WHAT?!?_ Marvolo shrieked.

"Destroyed?" Harry cried, alarmed. Why had Dumbledore done that? Didn't it belong to someone else? "But-but Nicholas Flamel..."

Dumbledore apparently mistook his exclamation for concern over Flamel. In growing horror and dismay, Harry listened as the Headmaster cheerfully explained how his friends were happy to give up their lives for no particular reason.

 _That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard,_ Marvolo said flatly, _and I have been stuck listening to_ you _for a year._

Harry was torn between wholeheartedly agreeing and defending himself. An errant thought jarred him from his contemplation.

"The mirror," he gasped, a terrible hope building in his chest. "Sir, if the Stone was real, does that mean that what I saw in the mirror was also-?" But Dumbledore was already shaking his head sadly.

"I am afraid not, Harry," he said gently.

Harry's shoulders slumped. He hadn't wanted to believe Marvolo when he'd told him what the mirror was, but if the Headmaster was saying the same thing...

"I don't care whether it's real or not," he said impulsively. "The mirror wasn't damaged, was it? Can I see it again?"

"It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry," the Headmaster said quietly, the corners of his mouth turning downward.

"Please, sir," Harry begged, completely abandoning all pretense at dignity. "They're my parents, sir, I've never seen them before - I just want to look at them one more time, I promise-"

"Never?" the Headmaster interrupted him. He had a very odd expression on his face. "Do your relatives not have pictures of them?"

There were quite a lot of things Harry could have said to that, but he'd learned that it probably wouldn't be best to say any of them. "No," he said simply, shaking his head.

"I see." Dumbledore was silent for a long moment. "Your parents loved you very much, Harry. They would not have wanted you to waste away in front of the Mirror of Erised, as so many have done before. Instead, I will see what I can do to put together some pictures for you, Harry."

"Really?" he gasped. That was an extraordinarily good bargain by any standards! The mirror had been amazing, but there was no way he'd be able to carry it around with him. But he could take pictures of his parents anywhere he went, and look at them any time he wanted, to boot. "That would be great, sir! Thank you so, so much!"

"You are most welcome," Dumbledore said, although his smile was somewhat sad. "Harry, is there _anything_ you wish to tell me?"

 _I cannot believe you got away with that,_ Marvolo said incredulously. _Perhaps there is something to be said for being pitiful and weak. You had best keep your mouth shut, Potter-_

"So, so many things!" Harry blurted out, ignoring Marvolo's resigned sigh. "Is Fluffy all right? Can't your friends, the Flamels, make another Stone? Are they _really_ okay with dying? Why does Voldemort want to kill me? Why did Quirrell's hand burn when he touched me? Oh, on the subject of Quirrell, wasn't there any way to tell that he had Lord Voldemort on the back of his head _before_ hiring him?"

Dumbledore chuckled, eyes twinkling. "Yes, aside from some mild indigestion. Technically, yes, but realistically, no; and yes. I will tell you the answer to that question when you are older. Your mother's love protected you; the evil of Voldemort could not bear the power of such an emotion. And I am afraid that the smell of garlic quite confounded my dark wizard-detecting abilities, leaving the castle utterly helpless against his intrusion."

"Huh," Harry said, trying desperately to process all of this information. "It's good that Fluffy's all right. And that my mum's still protecting me, too. That feels really nice." Then, Dumbledore's last sentence hit him like a ton of Bludgers. "Wait, I'm sorry, _what?!"_

"Yes, most unfortunate," Dumbledore said vaguely, still beaming brightly. He pulled a small tin from his pocket, extending it towards Harry. "Would you like a lemon drop?"

"Um," Harry said, his mouth still futilely attempting to catch up to his brain. "No thanks?"

Dumbledore nodded sagely, popping a drop in his mouth. His face fell as he chewed. "Alas," he said. "They have gone stale." Before Harry could ask whether that was some sort of clever metaphor or not, the Headmaster of Hogwarts had already politely made his excuses and swept out of the room.

 _Marvolo,_ Harry thought faintly, _are you_ sure _he's actually incredibly powerful, and not just, well, barmy?_

 _Insanity goes hand in hand with power!_ Marvolo said indignantly, punctuating his sentence with a high-pitched cackle.

 _Right, forget I asked._ Harry turned to the pile of letters beside him. Someone - probably the Headmaster - had kindly left him a quill and some parchment. Looking at the size of the letter pile, he was probably going to need it.

The first missive, from Blaise, read simply:

> Harry, you IDIOT. Have you ever considered not being completely insane, for once?
> 
> P.S. Glad you're not dead.
> 
> P.P.S. Where did you get the present you gave me from? It has such delightfully horrific fashion advice! I want the entire product line. But I'm still mad at you. Nothing will ever help.
> 
> P.P.P.S. Except for bribery. Bribery will help.

Harry sighed, setting the letter aside and making a mental note to owl order something nice for Blaise when he got out of the hospital wing. 

Draco's letter wasn't much better. He, too, was glad Harry wasn't dead - although he said it a lot more formally than Blaise had - but the second half of the letter was nothing more than an incensed diatribe. Draco seemed to vacillate between outrage at the fact that Harry hadn't invited him on a thrilling adventure and relief at the fact that Harry hadn't involved him in such a misguided, Gryffindor-like endeavour. After some thought, Harry wrote a suitably apologetic letter back, promising that the next time an evil wizard attempted to defame and murder him, he'd ask him to hang on so that he could go and fetch Draco first. He hoped that would settle the matter.

Pansy's letter was far nicer, with plenty of solicitous concern about his health, although Harry was pretty sure that she was just being more polite about suggesting that he was barmy. Tracey and Theo had sent formal 'get well soon' cards, while the goons had sent rather touching pictograms.

He hesitated when he looked at the handwriting on the next letter. Why in Merlin's name was _Hermione_ writing to him? Surely there was no way that Pansy would have told her, was there?

Just like Hermione, the letter was short and to the point.

> Dear Harry,
> 
> Thank you very much for the books! I've already finished the book of modern spells, although it's really annoying to have to wait to practice them.
> 
> I have sort of a weird question for you: is everything all right? The reason I ask is because Pansy Parkinson wrote me this really perplexing letter saying that I'm a bad minion, and-

With a strangled yelp, Harry hastily set the letter aside. Maybe if he pretended that he'd never received it, this whole thing would just blow over completely. 

Secure in his self-delusions, he leaned back against the bed, closing his eyes. His moment of rest barely lasted a few seconds before Hagrid burst through the infirmary doors, immensely relieved that Harry was all right and immensely vocal about it as well. By the time Hagrid had calmed down enough to return the topic of conversation to his beloved pets, Harry had almost managed to put the matters of the day out of his mind entirely.

And, for once, it seemed as if Marvolo was content to join him.

***

Harry flopped down on his four-poster bed with a sigh of relief. Madam Pomfrey was nice enough, but she was a bit overly meticulous, in Harry's opinion. The holidays had almost ended by the time she'd let him out of the Hospital Wing, and with Marvolo still locked in a state of stunned silence, Harry had been bored out of his mind. He smiled a little when he caught sight of his Invisibility Cloak, neatly folded on his bedside. It had been really kind of the Headmaster to retrieve it for him, even if Harry was a little dubious about the answers Dumbledore had given him in the infirmary.

 _I have been thinking,_ Marvolo announced abruptly.

Uh-oh. That was usually a bad sign. _Yes?_ Harry thought warily.

 _I...may have made a mistake,_ Marvolo said reluctantly.

 _Oh._ A rush of guilt suffused Harry as he thought of how close they'd come, only to have their hopes dashed by...well, everything. _Marvolo, I'm really sorry about the plan,_ he thought miserably. _It was a horrible failure on every level, and-_

 _I told you so,_ Marvolo said, but it sounded more automatic than smug. _We did have a 0% casualty rate on our side, though, which does make it better than most of my plans. Well, most of my_ recent _plans, at any rate. Which brings me to my point._

Marvolo didn't blame him for their failure? That was...far more mature behaviour than Harry had ever expected from him. Admittedly, they had been forced into an obvious trap by the machinations of Quirrell and Lord Voldemort, and probably Dumbledore's as well, but whatever was preoccupying Marvolo had to be really big for him to not break out the insults.

 _I think,_ Marvolo said, his voice uncharacteristically hushed, _that the Dark Lord Voldemort may be..._ He seemed to take a second to gather himself, and when he spoke again, it was in a rushed, almost embarrassed whisper. _Insane._

 _Um. Yeah?_ Harry thought, confused.

 _No, not good insane, Potter,_ Marvolo snapped. _Bad insane!_

 _There's a good insane?_ Harry thought, even more muddled than before.

Marvolo let out a little scream of frustration. _Potter, the scourge of the British wizarding world was just thwarted by the half-baked impulses of a ten-year old-_

 _I'm eleven!_ Harry protested indignantly.

 _Not the point, Potter!_ Marvolo roared, apparently overcompensating for his previous silence. _Do you seriously not see a problem with this?_

 _Well,_ Harry thought tentatively, _that's good for us, then, isn't it? Seeing as he's trying to kill us, and everything._

Marvolo laughed uproariously. _He's not trying to kill_ me, _Potter._

 _Er, yes he is,_ Harry pointed out. _You're stuck in my head, remember?_

The laughter stopped abruptly. _Ah. Right._ Marvolo cleared his throat. _Regardless, this only proves my point. Namely, our goals are wildly divergent, in that mine make complete sense and his do not. I can only conclude that his mental faculties have rapidly declined while mine have not, which I can attribute to...Horcruxes._

Harry wrinkled his nose. _Is that a weird euphemism for something?_

 _No, Potter, don't be disgusting,_ Marvolo hissed. _Horcruxes are receptacles for portions of a wizard's power, achieved by splitting the soul through an act of brutal murder-_

That's _disgusting,_ Harry thought, horrified.

 _No it isn't, Potter, it's genius. Let me finish,_ Marvolo said menacingly. _At any rate, I believe that there may be a bit of an undocumented downside to these Horcruxes. And I think he's got more than I do, which forms the crux of this whole problem._

Harry knew Marvolo well enough to know that that hadn't been meant as a pun, but he couldn't stop himself from snickering anyways.

Marvolo ignored him, continuing on. _I must admit that my attitude is much changed from my younger days. Why, I remember how I used to manipulate people delicately simply by talking to them, without any dramatic castigation or torture spells. I know, I know, it sounds terribly boring, but I assure you that the efficiencies far made up for the lack of fun-_

Harry hadn't been thinking that at all, actually. His eyes slowly started to glaze over as Marvolo dove deeper and deeper into his reminiscences, snapping back to attention just as Marvolo finally got to the point of his rambling speech.

 _-and so, the only possible conclusion is that I must reabsorb my Horcruxes to regain my lost wisdom and power!_ He waited expectantly.

 _Great! Makes perfect sense!_ Harry thought, more-or-less enthusiastically. _So...what's the plan?_

 _It's simple,_ Marvolo said gleefully. _Perfectly idiotproof. We will start off like this-_

***

"-and then the Minister of Magic gave us _another_ albino peacock, and of course we had to thank him politely to his face, but then we just went home and dumped it on the grounds to terrorize the house elves along with all the other ones. I mean, honestly, what does he think we _do_ with that many peacocks? Where is he even _getting_ these things? Of course, the Minister of Magic's exclusive Christmas gala doesn't even compare to _some_ people's holidays, though..."

Harry groaned. "For the last time, Draco, I'm sorry I risked getting expelled without you. I really didn't have a choice, you know! Quirrell tricked me!"

"Well, at least you got rid of him," Draco said grudgingly, although he still sounded somewhat resentful. "I still can't believe he turned out to be a dark wizard, though. You'd think he'd at least have taught us some decent curses, then."

"That'd be training the competition, though, wouldn't it?" Harry pointed out.

Draco gave him an odd look, then shook his head, letting out a huff of amusement. "Only you would think of it that way, Potter," he grumbled. "Your reign of terror will truly be horrifying. Let me know in advance when to flee the country, will you?"

"Any time, Draco," Harry said warmly, relieved. The other boy just shook his head again, turning back to his dinner.

"Don't worry, Harry," Pansy said conspiratorially, leaning over. Harry was pleased to see one of the elegant hairpins he'd given her for Christmas perched in her hair, holding her bun in place. "I made sure to spread the word about your heroically cunning magical duel. Draco will come around with everyone else. Besides, it'll really fuel book sales."

Harry groaned again, eyeing Pansy's sweet smile with no small degree of wariness. Was it possible that she knew exactly what she was doing?

Regardless, his fellow Slytherins' mixture of jealousy and caution (and, in Pansy's case, some sort of weird concerned spitefulness) had one upside. It made it relatively easy for him to sneak away after dinner, using a conveniently positioned loo to hastily don his Invisibility Cloak and head up to the seventh floor.

 _All right,_ Harry thought determinedly as he tugged on a pair of gloves. He really should have put them on _before_ he wore the Cloak, but to be fair, he was sort of new to this whole 'planning' thing. _This time, we're going in with an actual plan._

 _Yes, Potter,_ Marvolo hissed. _Nice and easy, like I said. Turn left here._

_And you're absolutely sure that you know what you're doing?_

_More than you do, certainly,_ Marvolo said, sounding rather offended. Harry couldn't really argue with that.

As instructed, he paced back and forth three times in front of what appeared to be a completely blank section of wall, thinking really hard about a place of hidden things. To his astonishment, a glowing door materialized out of nowhere, peeling back enticingly to reveal...a dusty, junk-filled storage room. As far as villainous soul-containing receptacles went, it was kind of a let-down.

_Focus, Potter. We are looking for a silver tiara with a large blue sapphire in the center - ah! Yes! That one, right over there!_

Harry stared dubiously at the discolored piece of jewelry shoved haphazardly into a corner. _That's the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw?_ he thought dubiously. _It looks like you could buy it for ten pounds at a pawnshop._

_It has immense historical and magical significance - oh, why do I bother? Just grab it, Potter!_

_Right,_ Harry thought, licking his lips nervously. _Here goes nothing!_ He reached out, bracing himself, and closed his hand around the tiara.

Nothing happened.

_Er, what now?_

_Silence, Potter, I must concentrate,_ Marvolo demanded imperiously. _Now...rejoin with your master!_

Nothing continued to happen.

 _You know, maybe this_ isn't _the fabled Diadem of Ravenclaw,_ Harry thought, doing his best to sound consoling. _I mean, there's a_ lot _of junk in here, and-_

 _The last time I checked, this was_ my _Horcrux, not yours, Potter._

_I mean, I'm not saying you necessarily forgot where you left your soul, but I kind of think you might have-_

_Shut UP, Potter! You! Yield to me, you stupid thing! Why isn't this working?_

_So what exactly are you supposed to do to 'reabsorb' this thing, anyways?_ Harry thought, regretting that he hadn't asked Marvolo this question before they'd sneaked in here.

 _I have to 'feel regret', or some sort of rubbish along those lines,_ Marvolo snapped. _I do feel regret, though! Regret that I was stupid enough to make this bloody thing in the first place! It should be working!_

Harry frowned. _Is that really it?_ This whole endeavour seemed to be disappointingly anticlimatic. There had to be something Marvolo was missing. The Diadem...it could help him figure out the answer, couldn't it? All he had to do was put it on, and the intelligence of Ravenclaw would be his. They needed it, after all. He just had to-

_POTTER, YOU DAFT IDIOT! PUT IT DOWN!_

With a gasp, Harry dropped the tiara, his arm almost halfway to his head. Somehow, he'd let the Cloak fall while lost in his thoughts. The tiara fell into its silvery folds, glittering temptingly from the floor. Somehow, it seemed...brighter than before.

 _Right, sorry about earlier,_ Harry thought, shuddering. There was definitely _something_ malevolent in there.

 _Maybe I have to try and possess it,_ Marvolo mused. Several minutes of intense silence followed, during which Harry paced around, trying his best not to look in the tiara's general direction. Finally, the stillness was broken by a frustrated shriek. _This isn't working, either! It's giving me a headache!_

_But you don't even have a head, Marvolo-_

_Exactly! It's unbearable!_ A string of wizarding curses that were just decipherable enough to make Harry wince stung his ears. _Fine. I left a reference book in the Chamber of Secrets. It's concealed in the left eyesocket of that giant skull, you can't miss it. We're going to go look this up._

Harry hesitated, staring at the tiara. Somehow, knowing that it was actively evil made its dark powers even more tempting. He knew he should be at least vaguely concerned about that sort of attitude, but he figured it came as part and parcel of being a wizard.

Still, he didn't really want to touch it. Hurriedly, before he could change his mind, he pounced, wrapping the tiara up in the Invisibility Cloak and stuffing the entire bundle into his book bag, pulling some textbooks out to make it fit.

He'd gotten away with sneaking around without the Invisibility Cloak for months, after all. He could do it just one more time.

He exited the weird magical storage room quietly, creeping down the corridor for a good distance until he reached the stairs. From there, he broke into a brisk walk, attempting to look as if he knew what he was doing. If he hurried, he could make it to the second-floor girls' loo well before curfew.

"Oi, Potter!"

"Weasley?" he said incredulously, turning around. Sure enough, the red-headed Gryffindor boy was walking briskly towards him, looking very much as if he wanted to have an actual conversation that didn't involve grunting and finger-pointing. "Look, this really isn't the best time-"

Weasley got straight to the point. "Did you really curse Quirrell with my _Slugulus Eructo_ spell and finish him off with a conjured aerial servant while he was too busy vomiting slugs to fight back?"

"Oh, er, something like that, yeah," Harry said vaguely. 

Weasley's eyes widened. "Wicked."

Harry gave him a strained smile. "Look, I've really got to-"

_"I can bring you fortune..."_

"Huh?" Weasley said, frowning. "Potter, did...did your bookbag just talk?"

"What?" Harry said incredulously. "You can hear that?"

_Potter, that isn't me, that's the Horcrux!_

"Oh!" Harry blurted out. "Er, I mean, that's too bad, since...since Pansy pranked me and I thought it'd worn off! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

_"I can bring you fame-"_

Harry wrapped his arms around the bookbag, squeezing tightly in an attempt to muffle the disconcertingly Marvolo-like voice emitting from its depths. Luckily, it served to muffle the voice sufficiently to mollify Weasley somewhat.

"That's a really creepy prank," the other boy said, giving Harry an accusatory glare for some reason.

"Right! Yep!" Harry said with a laugh that was only slightly maniacal. "So I'm just going to decurse my bag! Somewhere over there! Alone!"

"Ooookay," Weasley said, sounding even more dubious than before. With a shake of his head, he walked off, muttering something about slimy Slytherin tricks. Harry sped off in the opposite direction, praying both that he wouldn't run into anyone else before he reached the loo and that Weasley would forget all about his strange encounter.

Ron Weasley did not forget about his weird encounter. In fact, he was so preoccupied with wondering what the hell was wrong with Harry Potter that he failed to notice that his robe pocket was a little lighter than it had been before he'd run into him.

***

Peter Pettigrew was having a very bad, no good, extremely alarming day.

It had all started when he'd heard a familiar voice, the sound of which had jarred him from his near-slumber in the youngest Weasley boy's pocket. He'd frozen in horror, so that he'd been _almost_ too late to catch the bearer of the voice as he dashed around a corner. He wasn't a young rat any more, and he didn't move like he used to. Still, he'd surprised himself by actually being able to keep up with the mysterious figure. He'd surprised himself even further when he realized that it wasn't just any ordinary boy he was following - it was _James' boy,_ the supposed savior of the wizarding world.

And he'd nearly bloody well dropped dead of surprise right there on the spot when he watched the Boy-Who-Lived speaking Parseltongue and opening the Chamber of Secrets right before his very eyes.

He was more afraid of his former master than he was of the horrors of Slytherin's chamber, in the end, and so he followed James' son down the tunnel, barely stifling his panicked squeaks.

What he saw there nearly shattered the remnants of his sanity.

Harry Potter was petting a giant snake - a _basilisk,_ which writhed and gambolled happily about him. Harry Potter was _chatting_ with it, after which it shot off like the enormous, terrifying predator that it was, perhaps released to hunt down Mudbloods once more. Harry Potter was casually walking over to the giant gaping skull dominating the back wall like it was nothing and retrieving an ancient book from its eyesocket, muttering to himself as he paged through it.

Harry Potter then pulled a glimmering tiara from his bookbag, so beautiful that it was almost painful to look at, shook it out of what looked like an Invisibility Cloak onto a nearby rock, and then proceeded to say dark and portentous _things_ at it.

"-don't get why I have to be the one to say it out loud, it's your stupid Horcrux," Harry Potter muttered. "Okay, okay, fine, here goes nothing." He cleared his throat. "Sorry that I was stupid enough to make you." He made a reluctant face, then sighed. "You stupid thing, you'd better join back with your master if you know what's good for you. Ugh, I can't believe I actually said that - wait, what? Marvolo, I'm not going to say that-okay, whatever, fine, fine, don't shriek." His voice sounded somewhat incredulous. "Do you _want_ to be eaten by my basilisk? I know I only reserved that sort of thing for my worst minions, but now _you're_ acting like a terrible minion! Reflect on _that,_ why don't you?"

After several minutes of what seemed to be a fierce internal debate, Harry Potter sighed again. Carefully using the Invisibility Cloak to lift the tiara, he concealed both tiara and book back inside the eye socket and, looking like he'd swallowed a lemon, skulked back towards the tunnel entrance, wrapping the Cloak around himself as he did. Alarmed, Peter hurried to follow closely in his footsteps, his ears twitching. The last thing he wanted was to get stuck in here.

Harry Potter stalked off, never once having noticed the rat creeping quietly behind him.

Peter Pettigrew remained in the girls' bathroom on the second floor for a long, long time.

When he finally regained his senses, it was with a quiet, hesitant squeak, beady eyes focused unerringly on the door through which Harry Potter had left.

"...My lord?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sincere thank you to the wonderful Duinemerwen, who has spared you all from the horrors of my stylistic choice to use bold for letters in the previous chapter. All hail the far more aesthetically pleasing blockquote!


	12. Into The Fire (The Albus Dumbledore Remix)

"Thank you all for attending this emergency staff meeting," Albus Dumbledore began, smiling benevolently at his assembled staff. Most of them were in visible states of disarray, various expressions of shock and dismay frozen onto their features. Severus was sneering in a very Severus-like way from his position in the corner.

"Is Mr. Potter all right?" Minerva burst out. The usually stern witch was looking rather distressed, hands clenched tightly in her lap. Undoubtedly, she felt partially responsible for the entire debacle.

"Yes, he is quite fine," Albus reassured her. "After a period of rest in the infirmary, he will be as good as new. Harry is quite resilient, not to mention brave."

Severus let out a disbelieving snort. "Oh, come on! You do not seriously believe the boy's story, do you?"

"Severus!" Minerva said, drawing herself up. "How can you say such things about poor Mr. Potter?"

"'Poor Mr. Potter?'" Severus said, equally incredulous. "Need I remind you all of the incident with the troll? And now this convenient revelation about his attempts to retrieve the Stone? There is something seriously off about that boy, and if you do not see it-"

"Your old grudges blind you, Severus," Minerva snapped furiously. "What has Harry ever done to you?"

Severus' jaw worked, seemingly overcome with a rage so intense that it defied conventional speech. "He gave me," Severus hissed out at last, "a _Christmas present._ "

Dead silence greeted this pronouncement. Sybil Trelawney shared a knowing look with Charity Burbage as she took a long pull out of her ever-present flask. "I foresaw this," she whispered, tapping her head meaningfully.

"Moving right along," Albus said, clearing his throat. "The most pressing issue on everyone's minds, aside from Harry's health, of course, must be the unexpected vacancy in our Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

"Ah, Albus, if I may," Filius Flitwick said somewhat apologetically. "I believe that I speak for many of us when I say that the first issue we should discuss is how You-Know-Who managed to infiltrate the school. After over a decade of complete security and the strongest wards we've ever seen, it is very alarming that Quirrell's possession somehow managed to escape everyone's notice."

"An excellent idea, Filius," he said, eyes twinkling. "We shall establish a subcommittee to review this issue and submit their recommendations for prevention. Minerva will provide you with the appropriate paperwork."

Filius frowned uncertainly. "I...see. But considering the resurgence of You-Know-Who, would it not be best to take immediate precautions into this security breach? Perhaps the wards could be reviewed?"

"Another excellent point!" Albus stroked his beard wisely. "I will add it to the list of subcommittee tasks. If you could make sure that you file the paperwork correctly, I am sure that your request to establish the subcommittee will be approved in no time!"

Minerva patted a baffled-looking Filius on the shoulder. "I just assume that he knows what he's doing. Sometimes, it helps," she whispered, with a puzzled look at Albus.

"Moving on, then," he said, directing his smile across the room. "The Defense Against the Dark Arts position must be temporarily filled, of course. Luckily, we have one extremely qualified applicant able to take up the post at short notice."

"Finally," Severus said, a small smirk dancing across his lips. "I must confess that I am quite curious as to whether the Dark Lord left behind detailed lesson plans-"

"Hmm?" he said vaguely. "Ah, my apologies, Severus. I was referring, of course, to Gilderoy Lockhart."

Severus' features darkened with fury. "What?!"

"Gilderoy Lockhart?" Aurora Sinistra gasped, hands flying to her mouth in giddy excitement. "Five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award?" She scowled defensively as several eyebrows were raised in her general direction. "What? I'm sure he has other qualifications, too. Probably."

"I think he has an exclusive shampoo line," Charity said hesitantly.

Severus looked as if he was about to have an apoplectic fit on the spot. "WHAT?!"

"I must agree with Severus," Filius said. "Surely you cannot be suggesting that we appoint a teacher who will tell our students to fight dark wizards by smiling at them-"

"It worked for him against the Hideous Hag of Holland!" Charity shrunk a little as Severus' fierce scowl zeroed in on her. "Well, it did!"

Albus cleared his throat. "He also has an Order of Merlin-"

"Third Class! It might as well be a participation trophy!"

"How would _you_ know that, Severus?"

He cleared his throat loudly again, sending a stern look at both Severus and a chastened-looking Charity. "And he is also an honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League-"

"Didn't they also award an honorary membership to Lord Voldemort for defeating Odric the Oddly Malevolent in battle?" Aurora said dubiously.

"In their defense, they revoked it after he started killing _other_ people, too." Charity threw her hands up as the other professors stared at her a third time. "What? I read the news!"

"I hate my life," Severus muttered.

"So!" Albus said loudly, clapping his hands together, "since we only have one applicant for the position-"

"I hate _all of you,"_ Severus said loudly.

"Tell us something new," Minerva growled.

"-we will be welcoming Professor Lockhart as the newest member of our staff for the second half of the year!"

Severus made a strangled noise of frustration before throwing the door open with a loud bang and stalking out of the room, long robes billowing dramatically behind him. "This place," he snarled as he turned on his heel, "is a madhouse!"

"That's hardly new," Minerva said, sniffing disapprovingly.

"Another successful staff meeting adjourned!" Albus said, beaming at everyone. Graciously, he accepted the stunned silence in lieu of applause.

"I think I need a new job," Aurora sighed.

"At least wait until after Gilderoy Lockhart leaves!"

The usually serious Astronomy professor let out a coy giggle, hiding her mouth behind her hand. "Do you know, that's one of the few things that might actually entice me to stay? I was always curious about that one passage in _Voyages with Vampires..."_

Albus' beatific smile widened as he left the staff room. Mission accomplished.

***

Albus Dumbledore's day went something like this:

After providing suitably inscrutable answers to Harry's questions, he left the infirmary, contemplating the metaphorical significance of the stale lemon drop dissolving in his mouth. The smile slowly dropped from his face as he ascended the staircase to his office, disappearing entirely by the time he sat down at his desk to dictate a harsh reminder. He sent the letter off with a Disillusioned owl, then quickly sorted through his own mail, nodding with satisfaction as he saw Lockhart's perfumed letter of acceptance. His larger-than-life, exuberant attitude was exactly what Harry would benefit the most from after his horrifying experience with Quirrell.

Besides, not that he would ever admit it, but he was a bit of a fan. He'd always loved winding down the day with a decently gripping work of fiction, after all.

With one sweep of his wand, he dispatched Harry's Invisibility Cloak back to his dorm; with another, he reinforced the Hogwarts wards and confirmed that all security measures had been re-enabled. He regarded his desk with grave ceremony, then reached out and nudged the giant, tottering piles of paperwork one centimeter closer to the edge.

His daily tasks thus accomplished, he settled back into his chair, pulling out a well-worn copy of _Gadding with Ghouls._ It was his duty to do his due diligence on their new hire, after all.

After a pleasantly engrossing hour, he tucked the book away, taking a stroll to Hagrid's cabin. The groundskeeper would undoubtedly have finished resettling Fluffy in the Forbidden Forest by now, and was always happy to chat and have a cup of tea with any friends who stopped by.

Albus' eyebrows rose fractionally as Hagrid opened his door. "Good evening, Hagrid," he said, smiling jovially at the young man. "What charming eyepieces!"

"Thanks, Headmaster!" Hagrid said enthusiastically, adjusting the very large pair of mirrored sunglasses adorning his face. "Harry gave them t'me fer Christmas!"

"What a thoughtful present," he said warmly, although he was slightly befuddled at the sight. It was an interesting present, certainly, and oddly specific as well. "May I come in?"

"Of course, of course!" Hagrid corralled Fang with one hand, clearing a path for Albus to his kitchen table. "I'll put the kettle on, if yeh'd like."

"Wonderful," Albus said, beaming at him reassuringly, although he changed the subject quickly. It was always best to head Hagrid off before he remembered his infamous rock cakes. As he'd expected, the groundskeeper was equally horrified to learn that Harry hadn't seen any pictures of his parents before, although he didn't seem particularly surprised. Between him and Hagrid, Albus was sure that they would be able to put together plenty of pictures and memories for Harry to have. After all that had happened, it was the least he could do for the boy.

It was the least anyone could do.

***

The students had returned, Lockhart was polishing off his last promotional tour, and the second term had only just begun. Albus smiled benevolently at the students assembled in the dining hall, but his mind was only half on his own supper.

Most of his thoughts were focused unerringly on Harry Potter.

Harry, who spoke with such charming bluntness at times, as though he was accustomed to saying whatever popped into his head. Harry, whose first instinct was to rush to the defense of his friends. Harry, who by all accounts except Severus' was relatively diligent in classes; who seemed to only want acceptance from everyone, students and teachers alike.

But he was also the same boy who refused to meet Albus' eyes whenever they spoke. The same boy who had visited the forbidden corridor long before he'd even shown any signs of suspecting Quirrell; who'd been so dismayed to find out that the Stone had been destroyed, and so uncomprehending of the reasons behind its destruction. And then there were the silences, the blink-and-you'd-miss-them pauses in conversations, as if he was thinking very hard about what to say before he said anything. Or, perhaps-

He shook his head sharply. No. Surely not. He'd had those habits long before Quirrell had been vanquished, after all. It could be nothing more than a simple mark of neglect, a thought that filled his heart with terrible sorrow. He had made so many mistakes, in his life.

Could this be another one?

He sighed internally, picturing his observations on a scale tipping slowly from one side to the next. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter, the Slytherin.

Harry Potter, who - as he'd done every day since their little chat in the infirmary - was taking an extra helping of garlic bread from the table platters, wrinkling his nose slightly as he crammed the loaf into his mouth.

Albus' eyes widened behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Oh, dear," he said quietly.

And the scales, ever so slowly, came to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fairly short setup chapter, I know, but I couldn't resist including it! We'll be back to our regularly scheduled Harry & Marvolo fun in the next chapter :)


	13. Improvisational Flailing For Dummies

_-and thus, the wizarding world is divided on the precise origin of the words_ Avada Kedavra, _although its effects are hardly in dispute. I have often wondered why it is considered one of the Unforgivable Curses, though. After all, a well-placed Reductor will cause death just as easily, and far more painfully. And the Killing Curse has so many syllables, too! I mean, I use it because of its obvious aesthetic value - the green really complements my eyes, you know - but whether or not it is necessarily efficient can be left as an exercise for the listener-_

With a groan, Harry snapped his copy of _Gadding with Ghouls_ shut, glowering at the Horcrux on the other end of the room. As usual, it was completely inert. _Marvolo, are you trying to_ bore _the Horcrux into merging with you?_ he thought incredulously.

_It is a brilliant plan, Potter,_ Marvolo said huffily. _Perhaps it is the Horcrux that must feel regret, not me._

I'm _feeling regret,_ Harry thought irritably.

_Perhaps if you pulled your nose out of that stupid book and helped, we would be making faster progress,_ Marvolo snapped. _Your talent for inane conversation far outstrips mine._

Harry winced. _Come on, Marvolo,_ he pleaded. _I want to at least finish this book before our first Defence class tomorrow._ Rumor had it that the new professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, had wanted to assign seven books for all of his classes, but that the unfortunate realities of his last-minute appointment had prevented him from doing so. Judging by the impressive exploits in this book alone, the last thing Harry wanted was to be unprepared for such a powerful wizard's class.

And besides, the book was really good.

Marvolo snorted, clearly unimpressed. _Where was I? Ah, yes! My favourite Unforgivable Curse is_ Avada Kedavra, _of course, but I have two hundred and thirty-five favourite apparently forgivable curses, which I will now describe at length-_

_Let me take a look at that reference book,_ Harry thought hastily, ignoring Marvolo's triumphant hiss. He squinted his eyes at the tiny, cramped text, flipping quickly to the bookmarked page, The text on Horcruxes was even more horrific than Marvolo had made it sound, which was quite the feat. In contrast, the section on how to undo the making of a Horcrux was comprised of just a handful of sentences. Still, they seemed to suggest one fairly obvious thing that Marvolo had overlooked.

_I think you need to feel remorse for the murder,_ Harry suggested.

_Which one? There are so many of them, you see-_

_The one you used to make the Horcrux,_ Harry thought hastily.

_What?_ Marvolo scoffed. _Well, that certainly doesn't make any sense._

_What do you mean?_ Harry protested. _Look, it's perfectly obvious! The book literally says so!_ Encouraged by Marvolo's sullen silence, he pressed on. _Besides, it can't hurt to try, can it?_

_Other than my pride, I suppose not,_ his friend grumbled. _So?_

_So?_ Harry thought, bewildered.

_So,_ Marvolo said impatiently, _how do you go about feeling remorse, then?_

_What?_ Harry's jaw dropped. _Er, well..._ He floundered briefly, unsure of how to explain such a simple concept. _I guess you can start by...apologizing, maybe? You know, saying sorry?_

_Hmmm,_ Marvolo said dubiously. _Very well. Now, who did I kill to make this one, again? Ah, yes! Some random Muggle in Albania!_ He paused. _I do not suppose I need to know the Muggle's name for this, do I?_

Marvolo hadn't even begun his apology yet, and Harry could already sense it going rapidly downhill. _Just try it, Marvolo,_ he sighed.

If Harry's jaw had dropped before, it nearly hit the floor when Marvolo spoke. Harry had had no idea that Marvolo could actually sound even approximately contrite, let alone manage to articulate any sort of apology without even a hint of evil cackling. _I truly apologize for murdering you, random Albanian peasant. Your death was regrettably painless and quick. You may rest assured that I am terribly sorry for your completely necessary demise._

_Hang on a second,_ Harry thought, frowning as he turned the words over in his head. _That sounds a bit off-_

A peal of insane laughter rang out inside Harry's head. _Ha! As if I would ever regret killing you, you fool! I cannot believe you fell for that!_ The delighted cackling stopped abruptly. _Wait a moment,_ Marvolo said, astonished. _That didn't work?_

_Marvolo, are you serious?_ Harry thought indignantly. _You have to actually mean it!_

_Oh,_ Marvolo said, deflating. _That may pose some slight difficulties._ He reflected in silence for a few moments. _I do regret killing a mere peasant,_ Marvolo offered. _I would have much rather liked to kill someone important, instead. Like a Muggle king, perhaps. That must count for something, right?_

Harry buried his head in his hands. This was going to take a while.

***

Marvolo's sanity was a lost cause, but after another hour in the same vein, Harry was forced to call it quits in order to preserve his own.

_I almost had it,_ his friend grumbled as they ascended the stairs to Harry's dorm.

_You really, really didn't,_ Harry thought back. He was surprised to find a very irritated-looking Hedwig waiting for him, a letter clutched tightly in her talons.

"Sorry, Hedwig," Harry said guiltily, attempting to pacify her with owl treats. "I didn't know you were waiting for me."

Hedwig gave him a distinctly unimpressed hoot, thrusting the letter towards him. Harry hastily opened it, the color draining from his face as he scanned the lines.

It was a note from Headmaster Dumbledore, asking him to pop by for fresh lemon drops and a chat. An appointment which, according to the note, was supposed to have been set for five minutes ago.

Horrified, Harry dashed out of the dorm, racing through the halls and dodging groups of annoyed upper-years until he finally reached the Headmaster's office. Gasping for breath, he knocked frantically on the door, a apology spilling from his lips as soon as Dumbledore invited him in.

"I'm so sorry, sir, I lost track of time-"

"Quite all right, dear boy," the Headmaster said with a benevolent chuckle. "So did I."

"Oh, good," Harry said, relieved. "Er, that is, I meant to say-"

"Please, Harry, take a seat." Grateful to be put out of his misery, Harry sat. Dumbledore leaned forward, steepling his fingers as he peered over his half-moon glasses at Harry, who did his best not to fidget. He paused for a while, seemingly in careful consideration about what to say next. "Hagrid and I have put together a little something for you."

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sight of the roughly-bound leather book in the Headmaster's hands. His fingers trembling slightly, he opened the cover, drinking in the pictures of his parents. His mother, laughing at a joke his dad had told her, head thrown back in delight over and over again in an unceasing loop; his father, apparently the victim of some sort of prank, attempting to retrieve his glasses as they fluttered around his head. Beside the pictures were brief annotations in many different types of handwriting, some of which glowed slightly. When his fingertips brushed the inscriptions, they unfurled into notes or letters recounting stories of his parents from those who had known them.

"Thanks, sir," Harry managed to say, his throat uncomfortably tight.

"You are most welcome, Harry," the Headmaster said gently. Once again, he seemed to deliberate for a brief time before speaking. "I have something else for you as well."

Reluctantly, Harry tore his gaze away from a photo of his parents with their arms looped around three men, making silly faces at the camera. "What is it, sir?" The breath left his lungs as Dumbledore deposited an immense, extraordinarily heavy tome in his hands.

"This," Dumbledore said gravely, "was your father's favourite book."

"Wow," Harry said, for lack of a better response. He peered at the title embossed on the cover. _"Path of the Hero: Instructional Treatises on How To Live Your Best Life While Simultaneously Sacrificing Yourself For Everyone Around You," _he read out loud. "Huh. That's...really oddly specific..."__

__"To understand your father's character," Dumbledore said solemnly, "it is essential to read this book."_ _

__"Really?" Harry's enthusiasm rapidly dampened as he flipped through the pages, which seemed to have been hurriedly handwritten in worryingly tiny script. "Er...I don't suppose he had one favourite chapter, or something?"_ _

__"The entire book was his favourite," Dumbledore said, sounding very serious._ _

__"Oh," Harry said, his shoulders slumping. It looked as if his already-limited free time was about to decrease even further. "Well, thanks for giving it to me, sir."_ _

__This seemed to satisfy Dumbledore well enough. After some more small talk about his classes and social life, the Headmaster released him without so much as a single cryptic comment. Staggering a bit under the weight of his father's book, Harry headed back towards the Slytherin dorms, resisting the urge to flip through the photo album as he walked._ _

__"Potter," a deep voice snarled, redolent with loathing._ _

__"Evening, Professor Snape," Harry said politely._ _

__Snape scowled at him. "Wandering the halls shortly before curfew, Potter? Think you can get away with another little escapade, don't you?"_ _

__"I was just heading back to the dorms, sir," Harry protested. "I met with Headmaster Dumbledore. He wanted to give me my father's book." He attempted to heft the volume a bit to tilt it towards Snape, but only succeeded in tiring out his arms even further._ _

__Snape's sneer twisted even further. "Ha! An unlikely story, Potter. The only books your father ever touched undoubtedly consisted solely of colorful pictures and small words."_ _

__Harry blinked in surprise. "But the Headmaster said-" His jaw dropped as the implications hit him. "Wait! Was my father _illiterate?"__ _

__Snape snorted, one corner of his mouth actually curving upward. Then, he seemed to remember that he was talking to Harry, and the glare returned with full force. "I know what you're up to, Potter. You may have the rest of these idiots fooled, but I know an unnecessarily complicated plot when I see one."_ _

__Well, if there was anyone at Hogwarts who was an expert on plotting, it was probably Snape. "Do you have any tips, sir?" he asked hopefully._ _

__Snape's eyes narrowed. "Is that what you thought to obtain from me in return from your little 'present', Potter?"_ _

__"What?" Harry said, confused. "No, that was just a Christmas gift." His eyes widened as the impact of Snape's earlier words sunk in. "Wait, sir! Does that mean you knew my dad? Did you know my mum? Was she illiterate, too?"_ _

__An impressive array of expressions paraded across Snape's features, culminating in a thunderous scowl that would not have looked out of place on a troll's face. "Detention, Potter," he snapped._ _

__"For what?" Harry asked, flabbergasted._ _

__A malicious grin crept across the professor's face. "For existing."_ _

__"But that's hardly my fault!" Harry protested. "If anything, you really ought to blame Voldemort-"_ _

__"Another detention for being idiotically flippant about your near-death experiences, Potter!" Snape barked._ _

__Harry opened his mouth indignantly, then, in a display of great wisdom, slowly closed it once more._ _

__Snape sneered at him for a moment, then leaned against the wall, smirk growing even wider. Harry frowned for a moment, confused, then realized with a jolt that curfew was rapidly approaching. To Snape's evident displeasure, he hurriedly excused himself, only daring to break into a run once the professor's dark eyes were no longer boring into his back._ _

_That git!_ he thought indignantly as he ran, wincing as the weight of the books dragged him down. He couldn't believe that he'd actually bothered to get that jerk a Christmas present. 

__And he still had detention with him too, to boot._ _

__Still, his spirits couldn't stay dampened for long. After a very rushed shower, he closed the curtains around his bed eagerly, hunching over the photo album. Even though he'd felt weary to the bone, his desire for sleep suddenly melted away as he reverently turned the first page, drinking in every word of the notes written alongside his parents' pictures. Harry looked at the photo album deep into the night, and wondered what things might have been like if his family had lived._ _

____

***

Harry resisted all attempts by his classmates to wake him the next morning, sleeping most of the way through breakfast. It was only when a very annoyed Hedwig started to peck him that he jolted out of bed, blearily scrabbling in his bedside drawer for owl treats.

"Thanks, Hedwig," he said guiltily. Mollified, the owl hooted at him before flying off, depositing a letter on his lap as she left.

Harry yawned as he unfolded the piece of notebook paper, glancing at it casually as he brought it up to his nose.

Harry froze. He looked at the paper. Blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Then, he hastily grabbed his glasses and scanned the simple note again. _Marvolo, are you seeing what I'm seeing?_ he thought incredulously.

_I don't see what the big deal is,_ Marvolo said irritably. _It's just a note._

But it _was_ a big deal. Because no matter how many times Harry read and reread the three simple sentences, the astonishing fact remained:

Aunt Petunia had sent him a letter.

> Harry,
> 
> Thank you for the pan. We hope that you are doing well. How is your school?
> 
> -Petunia

_I can't believe it!_ Harry thought joyously. _Look, she said she hopes I'm 'doing well!'_

_Yes, what touching concern,_ Marvolo sneered. _How in Merlin's name are your standards this abysmally low, Potter?_

_You don't get it, Marvolo,_ Harry thought impatiently. Hedwig had already flown off, but it took only a few moments for him to pull out a parchment and the calligraphy set Pansy had given him. He thought carefully about what exactly to write before he picked up his quill. It wouldn't do to make the school sound too good, in case Aunt Petunia or Dudley got jealous. In his best handwriting, he carefully wrote:

> Dear Aunt Petunia,
> 
> Thanks for your letter! I hope you are doing well too. I am doing fine right now, but you will be pleased to know that this school is very dangerous and I have almost died twice already! A lot of the teachers also actively hate students, and even the janitor talks a lot about hanging people up by their thumbs (which doesn't seem practical, but that's besides the point), so really it's not that far off from St. Brutus' in that regard.
> 
> Did you like the pan? I made sure it was a completely normal pan, no magic or anything. Is it useful?

He dithered over how to sign the letter for a while - 'love' seemed rather too strong, while 'best regards' or something like that seemed rather formal. In the end, he simply signed it with his name, blowing on the ink to dry it as he checked the time. If he got ready really quickly, he could probably make it to the Owlery and back before his first class - double Defence Against the Dark Arts - started.

Probably.

As it turned out, he did manage to make it to class on time, although he was more than a little winded by the time he joined the rest of his classmates. Harry blinked, tilting his head slightly as he stared at Pansy's face.

"Your hair looks nice today, Pansy," he said, still trying to pinpoint exactly what was different about it. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it looked more elaborate than usual.

Blaise snorted. "Almost all the girls look nice today," he snickered. "I'll give you a hint, Harry. The reason starts with 'Lock' and ends with 'hart'-"

"Thanks for noticing, Harry," Pansy said sweetly, throwing an incongruously venomous glare at both Blaise and Draco. "At least _someone's_ senses aren't completely impaired."

"It's you who's got impaired senses, if you think there's anything to fancy about Lockhart," Blaise said dismissively. "Overrated, if you ask me."

"Oh, please!"

"No, he isn't!"

Pansy and Hermione both turned to look incredulously at each other. Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly, but she spoke up anyways. "He's vanquished so many Dark Creatures, and he's written so many books-"

Draco and Weasley let out a simultaneous scoff. The two boys eyed each other askance for a moment, then folded their arms, united in their instinctive and inexplicable disgust.

"What's he done that's so special, anyways?" Weasley said rebelliously, apparently determined to have a contrary opinion to Hermione's.

Blaise snickered again. "Isn't it obvious, Weasley?" He flung out his arms dramatically, pantomiming a swoon. "What lush blond hair! What stunning blue eyes! What excessively arrogant levels of self-praise in his published literature!"

"Oh, so you _have_ read all his books, then!" Pansy said triumphantly.

"No, I haven't!" Blaise sputtered, faltering temporarily. "I-I was doing research on the enemy! That doesn't count!"

"Mm-hmm," Pansy said smugly.

"I think his books are kind of cool," Harry said tentatively. Everyone ignored him.

"This is ridiculous," Draco sniffed, turning up his nose at the assembled portraits of Lockhart liberally adorning the walls. "There's nothing he's done that the Malfoys haven't done in far more style. Why, my grandfather Abraxus Malfoy once held off an entire herd of rampaging Thestrals, although of course _he_ was never rewarded for it-"

"Ha!" Weasley snorted. "Not unless they give out awards for manufacturing Dark objects instead!"

Draco rounded on him indignantly. "Why, you jumped-up little peasant-"

Blaise wasn't done. "Well, what's his greatest accomplishment that you're so interested in, then? The line of lilac-scented hair-care products you're wearing, perhaps? Or maybe it's that dazzling Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile-"

"Ah, it's always so nice to meet a fan!" Blaise's face froze in the most sour expression Harry had ever seen on a living being to date as their new Professor descended from the staircase into the classroom, shooting an admittedly alarmingly luminous smile right at him. "For those of you who may, somehow, not know of me, I am the one and only Gilderoy Lockhart! Order of Merlin - Third Class - honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and as my new favourite student so kindly pointed out, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award!"

Blaise looked as though he were about to strangle Lockhart with his bare hands. "Why d'you hate him so much, anyways?" Harry whispered, only half-listening to Professor Lockhart's monologue about his daily dental regimen.

"He hit on my mum," Blaise hissed darkly.

"Did he really?" Draco's eyebrows shot up as he leaned in. "I was only slagging him to irritate Pansy, but if he actually tried to chat up your mum, maybe he really is stupid-"

"I feel like I'm missing some context here," Harry muttered, puzzled.

"She's poisoned eight of her husbands," Draco said bluntly. Harry stared at him, aghast, then darted a quick look towards Blaise, who only shrugged.

"What? He's right, you know."

_Eight, really?_ Marvolo said, perking up. _Last I'd heard, the total count was only three. She may be worth recruiting as a minion when I get my body back._

Harry buried his head in his hands. With ingrained attitudes like these, it really shouldn't have come as any surprise that Marvolo had trouble feeling remorse for things.

"Now, now, pay attention, Mr. Potter!" Lockhart's voice chided him. "You may be the Boy-Who-Lived, but you must always put on your very best face to ward off evil!"

"Yes, sir!" Harry said hastily, sitting upright. He really did sound like he knew what he was talking about! Hope kindled in his heart as he eyed the covered cage at the front of the room. Were they really about to receive a lordly demonstration of wizarding power against some of the most dangerous creatures in the world?

Alas, as he discovered after Lockhart promptly fled shrieking from a horde of tiny Cornish pixies, that was not to be the case.

"Still think Lockhart's the next best thing since Merlin's beard?" Harry heard Blaise say to Pansy, more than a hint of smarminess in his voice.

"Use your brains for once! He's just testing us, obviously!" Pansy said defensively.

Harry stared at her incredulously, almost dropping Neville. Luckily, Seamus made up for his brief dip in concentration, and together they safely managed to levitate their friend down from the chandelier from which he'd been hung.

_Either he's a secret genius,_ Marvolo said thoughtfully, _or very,_ very _stupid._

_Thanks for the assessment, Marvolo,_ Harry thought sarcastically. _Really helpful._

_I know,_ Marvolo said arrogantly, sounding very much like Lockhart.

Harry sighed as he immobilized another errant pixie, longingly eyeing the fortifications that his Slytherin fellows had hastily assembled from overturned desks and chairs. Perhaps it was time for a strategic retreat.

At the very least, their exit was far more dignified than Lockhart's.

***

Harry flopped facedown onto his bed with a groan, thanking all his lucky stars that, at the very least, his first detention with Snape wouldn't be until tomorrow.

"That," Draco announced gleefully, "was a complete _disaster._ Did any of you see what those pixies did to Finch-Fletchley?"

"It will be in my nightmares forever," Theo said darkly. The goons grunted in assent.

"I would kill to see him sacked," Blaise grumbled, still fuming. "I think I've discovered my life's ambition."

Harry winced as his stomach grumbled. With all the chaos, he'd been forced to skip lunch as well, and he dearly wished that he'd grabbed a snack to eat after dinner. "I'd settle for a pizza," he sighed.

"Eh?" Draco asked, brow furrowing. "You mean those caviar-and-lobster monstrosities? I had no idea your tastes leaned so far towards the esoteric, Harry."

"Huh?" Harry gaped at him. "What are you talking about? I just wanted a pepperoni pizza."

Draco looked completely blank. "What on earth are _you_ talking about?"

"Never mind," Harry said hastily, belatedly realizing that pizza was probably more of a Muggle thing. "Just...it's to _die_ for." He let out a breath of relief as Draco shrugged, clearly uninterested in pursuing the subject matter further.

Underneath Harry's bed, a pair of beady eyes widened as their owner shot bolt upright, whiskers twitching.

Peter Pettigrew finally had a task to carry out for his master.


	14. The Philosophy of Regret

Harry kept his head down, concentrating with all his might on the stubborn patch of cauldron he was scrubbing. Snape seemed to be even more malevolently alert than usual, and the last thing he wanted was to end up with more detentions.

Scrubbing cauldrons was usually a mindless task - even though Harry was pretty sure that Snape had probably instructed his previous class not to clean any of them out beforehand in preparation for his detention - especially when it was done in silence. Still, Snape hadn't said a single word to him for the entire hour and a half, opting instead for a dead-eyed, soulless stare that was directed straight at the top of Harry's head, and it was starting to get really unnerving.

_I'm bored,_ Marvolo said petulantly.

_Yeah, and whose fault is that?_ Harry snapped, his nerves fraying a fraction further.

_Yours, Potter,_ his friend said matter-of-factly.

_No, it's your stupid, terrifying ex-minion! Can't you...I don't know, call him off or something?_

_Of course not!_ Marvolo said, aghast. _That would blow our cover!_

_Since when do_ you _care about cover?_ Harry demanded, aggrieved.

Marvolo snickered. _I do not. I just enjoy watching you suffer._

Harry seethed. _You complete and utter jerk-_

"Potter."

With a shriek, Harry jolted forward, knocking his forehead against the rim of the cauldron as he hastily straightened up.

"I realize that this may be asking too much of you, but you could at least attempt to retain basic dignity, Potter," Snape said dryly.

Harry winced, resisting the urge to rub his head. "Er," he said, desperately trying to think of a decent comeback. "Sorry?"

_Humiliating, Potter. Kneazle got your tongue?_

"Has your usual eloquence deserted you, Potter?" Snape said, sneering nastily.

"I'm thinking!" Harry blurted out, then clapped his hands over his mouth. He hadn't intended to say that out loud.

Snape shook his head in evident disbelief. "I would suggest that you see Poppy for a possible concussion, but I suspect that the damage is already done."

"Oh, probably," Harry said, seizing the opportunity to change the subject with both hands. "I hit my head pretty badly when I was younger. I'm fine now, though!" he added hastily, just in case his professor would be concerned.

"That...explains quite a lot," Snape said slowly.

Harry's jaw dropped. "Hey!" he said indignantly. "Er, I mean, sorry, sir, but are you really supposed to say things like that? You're a teacher!"

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. "I am teaching."

"What's the lesson? Sir," he added hastily upon seeing Snape's glower.

"Think, Potter, if such a thing is possible," Snape said snidely. "Why are you here?"

Harry stared at him blankly. "Because you gave me detention, sir."

Snape gritted his teeth audibly. "And _why,_ Potter, did I make the unfortunate choice of inflicting your presence on me for any longer than necessary?"

_I think that may be a rhetorical question,_ Marvolo suggested.

From the impatient way Snape was tapping his fingers, Harry didn't think so. "Er," he said, stalling for time. "Well...you said you gave me one detention because I existed...and another one because I wasn't taking death seriously, which seems kind of contradictory when you think about it..."

_Marvolo, help,_ Harry thought desperately as Snape's eye twitched menacingly.

_How odd,_ his friend said suspiciously. _The way you phrased it, it almost sounds as if Severus is_ concerned _about you._

Harry barely restrained himself from snorting out loud. _Ha! Fat chance._ No, it was obviously something far less outlandish. "Maybe it's because I'm a disgrace to Slytherin?" he hazarded. "Wait, no - you'd just have said that as the reason; you've said it before." He shifted nervously from foot to foot, wishing that he could pace back and forth as he thought. "Er, well-"

And then, just as Snape opened his mouth to undoubtedly deliver yet another unfairly blistering criticism, realization hit Harry like a ton of Bludgers.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "It's all connected! Obviously, I can't be punished both for existing and for joking about not existing - that wouldn't make any sense. So the detentions are a symbol of the essential meaninglessness of the individual when weighed against the importance of life as a whole!"

Snape appeared to be, for once, speechless. "Potter, what in Merlin's name-"

"It was in my father's book!" Harry said brightly, hoping that the increasingly violent twitches of Snape's eyes were a good sign. "It's the title of the very first chapter!"

Snape rubbed his hands over his face, inhaling deeply. "Get out, Potter," he said, slightly muffled.

Harry's shoulders sank. "Did I get it wrong, sir?"

"OUT!" Snape bellowed.

Harry hastily grabbed his bookbag and fled.

_Why does it end up like that every time I talk to him?_ Harry complained. _It's not like I'm saying anything wrong._

_He was always a sensible minion,_ Marvolo said thoughtfully. _I suppose he can only tolerate so much stupidity at a time._

_I'm not stupid,_ Harry thought, scowling.

_I will rephrase in a manner that even you can understand,_ Marvolo said smoothly, barely breaking stride. _The less he has to deal with you, the lower the chances of a bout of homicidal rage permanently sinking his teaching career._

Harry considered this suggestion carefully. On one hand, even five minutes with Snape was enough to tell that he didn't like his teaching career very much. Then again, Snape didn't seem to like _anything_ very much, so who could really tell? _Makes sense,_ he thought, shrugging. 

What didn't make much sense was the sight that greeted him as he trudged back into his dorm, still half-lost in his thoughts.

The other boys in the dorm were not in bed, or playing Gobstones, or practicing hexes on each other, or any of their usual fun pastimes. They seemed to be gathered in a rough circle, muttering amongst each other suspiciously as they stared intently at something between them.

"Er, hello?" Harry said tentatively.

"Finally," Draco said impatiently, folding his arms. "Have you any idea how hard it's been keeping Crabbe and Goyle from eating it?"

"It's not poisoned," Blaise said, then frowned. "At least, I don't think it is."

"All right," Harry said cautiously, walking forward, "but what-?"

His jaw dropped as Draco and Theo moved aside to reveal the small table that someone had placed in their dorm. And, resting on top of the table, a rather oddly pale-looking pepperoni pizza.

"Huh," Harry said, utterly lost for words.

"Are you going to eat that?" Crabbe grunted. Goyle looked somewhat disappointed at not having thought of the question first.

"I guess so," Harry said awkwardly, a little unnerved by the fierce debate that the errant pizza seemed to have spawned. Trying to ignore his friends' stares, he reached out to take a slice.

As his fingers sunk into the dough, he immediately realized why they had all been staring.

It was evidently clear that whoever had made the pizza had only had the vaguest idea of what one was supposed to look like, and had proceeded to put together the most unappetizing configuration of ingredients possible so as to sort-of resemble one. And it smelled strangely...sugary?

"Did...did you guys make this?" Harry asked, stalling for time.

"You got lucky, maybe," Goyle said, shrugging. "A house elf must have heard you."

"I wouldn't call whatever this thing is 'luck'," Blaise muttered. "I've got a few bezoars in my trunk, by the way. Just letting you know."

"It can't have been a house elf," Theo said, wrinkling his nose. "It looks like some sort of disastrous Transfiguration failure to me. Perhaps you have some sort of secret admirer?"

As Harry tried to figure out who could possibly hate him so much as to do something like this, he managed to catch Draco's eye. The other boy hid his expression quickly enough, but he was unable to completely disguise the glimmer of horrified fascination on his face. It was clear that his friends had all been waiting to see whether or not he would be brave, or stupid, enough to eat it.

And, in front of the first friends his own age he'd ever made, he couldn't possibly back down.

With five pairs of eyes watching his every move, Harry hurriedly grabbed a slice and, before he could second-guess the wisdom of this plan, took a bite.

***

"Are you still feeling sick?" Blaise asked, peering at Harry's unusually drawn face. "Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey?"

"If it makes you feel any better," Draco said, clapping him on the back in a comradely fashion, "I won twenty Galleons off Theo betting on you. Pocket change, really, but it's the principle of the thing."

"I really did think you were smarter than that," Theo mumbled apologetically.

"That's why _I'm_ his best friend," Draco said smugly. "I know him better."

Pansy made a noise of disgust. _"Boys,"_ she said, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly.

Harry winced as he pushed his untouched dinner plate even further away from him. "What about them?" he demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Crabbe and Goyle, who were happily devouring plate after plate of sweets as if the events of last night had never happened. "It's the memory of them eating the rest of that thing that's making me ill!"

"Well, I'm glad you're comparing yourself unfavorably to Draco's goons, Harry," Pansy said, voice dripping with faux sweetness. "At least I won't have to do it for you."

Harry groaned as pitifully as he could, but for once, this didn't seem to deter Pansy in the slightest.

"Have some of this, Harry," Draco said brightly, pushing a plate of garlic bread towards him. "It's your favourite, isn't it? Besides, maybe your breath will drive her off."

Harry clamped a hand to his mouth, trying desperately to suppress the memory of how horrendously soggy the 'pizza' crust had been. He pushed the plate right back at Draco, fairly certain that he'd gone a little green. "No, thanks," he said, shuddering. "I don't think I'll be able to even _look_ at bread for a while."

"So much for knowing Harry so well," Blaise snickered, just a fraction too loudly.

Harry spent the rest of dinner fruitlessly attempting to defuse the ensuing argument. He might have been more successful had Pansy and Daphne not decided to fuel the flames, egging both Draco and Blaise on with increasingly outrageous comments long past the point at which either boy's creativity might have sustained them. By the time the pitched battle slowly limped to a halt with one last, halfhearted "No, _you're_ a logical fallacy!", everyone was far too relieved that it had finally ended to be too concerned about who had won the debate.

On the bright side, it had managed to distract Harry from his digestive rebellion for a while.

And, at the high table, Albus Dumbledore - who had been watching Harry with great interest from the moment he had so firmly rejected the garlic bread - stroked his beard in silent contemplation, a triumphant twinkle in his eyes. Clearly, the book was working well.

He just needed to be a little less subtle.

***

Harry trudged slowly towards his impending doom, wondering what fresh sludgy hell awaited him this time. Still, at least there was one consolation - no matter how disgusting they were, scrubbing cauldrons in silence would be a much easier task than having to actually talk to Snape.

Besides, as long as he kept his mouth firmly shut, he could at least vaguely hope that he would be able to escape without further detentions.

Marvolo snickered derisively, and Harry scowled. _I said it was a_ vague _hope,_ he thought defensively.

As he entered the classroom, that vague hope promptly keeled over and died.

"Sit, Potter," Snape barked, gesturing impatiently at the lone desk in the center of the alarmingly cauldron-free room.

Ignoring all of the instincts telling him to run away screaming, Harry reluctantly sat.

Luckily, Snape didn't seem to be in much of a mood to talk. He stalked over, slamming a scroll of parchment on the desk. "Write."

Hesitantly, Harry pulled out his quill and inkwell, pausing momentarily at the sight of the repeatedly underlined heading emblazoned boldly on the parchment.

It read: REASONS WHY MY 'PLAN' WAS UTTERLY MORONIC.

Below the heading, Snape had helpfully numbered the rest of the parchment for him. There were at least ten spaces that Harry could see, and he didn't think that he was quite brave enough to turn the paper over to check the back.

_Well, this should be easy!_ Marvolo said gleefully. _Now, where to begin-_

_Hang on,_ Harry thought hastily. He might arguably deserve it, but there was no way he was going to sit around and be insulted by both Marvolo _and_ Snape at the same time. _I want to at least take a stab at it myself, first,_ he lied.

_That was your first mistake,_ Marvolo huffed. _Admittedly, stabbing Quirrell might not have worked out any better, but it would certainly have been more satisfying._

Somehow, Harry didn't really think that Snape would appreciate that point of view. Sighing internally, he picked up his quill, mentally blocking out Marvolo's increasingly enthusiastic ranting, and tried to organize his thoughts enough to at least start jotting down a few ideas. Admittedly, he did have some trouble at first - with his friend's snide comments rattling around the inside of his skull, it was really hard to think of anything that wasn't ludicrously incriminating - but once he figured out that he could phrase mistakes like 'not asking Slinky to eat my enemies' as 'I didn't ask for backup', the work went a lot faster.

He was debating whether or not it would actually have made more sense to try and steal the entire Mirror instead of just the Stone when the icy brush of imminent doom crept down his spine. Sure enough, Snape was looming over him, scowling at the nearly-filled parchment. "A question, Potter."

"Yes, sir?" Harry said, trying his best to sound innocent.

"These may be oversimplistic, juvenile, and rather alarmingly indicative of a deeply troubled mind," Snape said grudgingly, "but they are not _completely_ incorrect."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Th-thank you, sir," he stuttered, momentarily stunned by the realization that Snape had actually given him a compliment.

The professor silenced him with an irritated wave of his hand. "Clearly, you are capable of some degree of critical thinking," he snapped. "Then _why,_ Potter, in Merlin's name, do you never use it?"

Harry paused, eyeing Snape warily. "Is that a trick question, sir?"

Snape's nostrils flared, hands twitching at his side as if he was envisioning them fastening around Harry's neck. "Potter-" he growled.

"'Out', right, got it," Harry said quickly, already half-turned to flee.

"Wait," Snape commanded, stopping the unfortunate Harry dead in his tracks. The professor stalked over to his desk, pulled the bottom drawer open with enough force to avenge any number of personal slights, and snatched an enormous bundle of papers from its interior. "Here," he said brusquely, shoving the papers at Harry. "Now we are even."

Warily, Harry peered at the papers, only for his jaw to drop again. "These - these are your Potions notes!" he exclaimed in shock, staring at the numerous recipe modifications and detailed scribblings in the margins.

"If you blow yourself up, do it in a way that cannot be traced back to me," Snape said, utterly deadpan.

"I will! Er, I mean, I won't, sir! Thanks, sir!" Harry hovered uncertainly, unsure of what to say that wouldn't make Snape underestimate his intelligence any more than he already did.

After a few moments of this, Snape rolled his eyes. " _Now_ you can get out, Potter."

"Yes, sir!" Harry said enthusiastically, tucking the notes away carefully in a separate pocket of his bookbag. He left the Potions lab feeling far cheerier than he had in a long time. Not only had Professor Snape forgiven him for the terrible crime of doing something nice for him, but now that he knew what mistakes he'd made, he'd be sure not to repeat them next time-

Harry froze. _Marvolo!_ he exclaimed. _Snape's a genius!_

I'm _a genius,_ Marvolo said sullenly.

_Of course you are,_ Harry thought soothingly, _but that's not what I meant!_

_This irritating desire for affection is really starting to grate on my nonexistent nerves, Potter,_ Marvolo hissed.

_Will you just listen for a second?_ Harry thought impatiently. _I know how to get you to merge with your Horcrux!_

And, for once, Marvolo shut up and listened.

***

Harry had to get up much earlier than he was accustomed to, but with the help of the Invisibility Cloak, he managed to sneak out of the Slytherin common room just before dawn, making it into the Chamber without incident.

_Well? What's the plan?_ Marvolo demanded.

_It's simple!_ Harry thought happily. _Remember that list of mistakes I made yesterday?_

_How could I forget?_ Marvolo said dryly. _You missed everything that was actually important._

_My point is,_ Harry thought, glaring at the diadem as a substitute for his friend, _making that list really made me regret not thinking about my plan before I went ahead with it. So if you just make a list about your mistakes with making the Horcrux, you'll definitely regret it, too!_

Marvolo considered this for a few moments. _That seems suspiciously easy,_ he said dubiously.

_It can't hurt to try, can it?_

His friend hummed thoughtfully. _I suppose not._

_Great!_ Harry thought eagerly. _So, what was your biggest mistake when making the Horcrux?_

_That's obvious,_ Marvolo said condescendingly. _It didn't work._

Harry waited for him to elaborate, but it seemed as if no further insight was forthcoming. _That's it?_ he prompted, shoulders slumping slightly.

_Well, yes,_ Marvolo said. _This isn't going to be one of those 'killing is bad' lectures again, is it? Because I do not think that those work particularly well, either._

Harry buried his head in his hands. Now he knew how Snape must have felt.

***

Several hours and one missed breakfast later, Harry was forced to conclude that Marvolo simply did not possess the necessary degree of self-reflection to allow him to reflect on his mistakes. For his part, Marvolo was even more stubbornly convinced than before that his initial plan had failed only because of random chance, and that Marvolo himself had had nothing to do with it. Neither of them were in a particularly good mood by the time Harry attempted to unobtrusively mingle with his housemates outside of the Transfiguration classroom.

"There you are," Blaise said, pulling a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his robes as they filed through the door. "Your owl dropped this off for you."

"Thanks, Blaise-" Harry began. He was interrupted by a loud bellow from a very irate-looking Ron Weasley, looking even redder than usual.

"Oi! _You!_ "

"Yes?" Harry said warily, rather grateful for the way Draco casually motioned for the goons to stand in between him and the Gryffindor boy.

To his credit, Weasley barely even faltered. "You slimy snake," he growled. "You stole my rat!"

"Wait, what?" Harry blinked in surprise. Of all the things he'd expected Weasley to say, that was definitely last on the list.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, doing her best to drag Weasley back. "I'm sorry, Harry, he's been on edge ever since that rat of his went missing-"

"Scabbers didn't just 'go missing,' Hermione!" Weasley said furiously. He glowered at the goons, but seemed unwilling to shake Hermione's hand off. "He did something to him!"

"Don't be stupid, Weasley," Draco sneered. "Harry's already got an owl. What would he need your pathetic rat for? Other than owl food, of course," he said, smirking unpleasantly.

Harry had to agree with the sentiment, even though he wouldn't have phrased it quite as harshly. "I really didn't take your rat, Weasley," he said honestly. "I haven't even seen it anywhere."

The Gryffindor boy's face darkened. "Don't play dumb, Potter! Scabbers was acting weird ever since I ran into you carrying that cursed bag, and now he's just gone! You must have used it to curse him, or something!"

"Cursed bag?" Pansy asked, intrigued.

"And then there was my mother's pudding!" Weasley raved on. "Scabbers never gets into the pudding! _Never!"_

Now even the Gryffindors were eyeing Weasley somewhat askance. The wheels were still turning slowly in Harry's head, though. If Scabbers had somehow made it into his bookbag...

Oh, no. _Marvolo,_ Harry thought hesitantly. _I don't suppose - there's no chance that diadem could have possessed Weasley's rat, is there?_

_Ha! No chance whatsoever,_ Marvolo said confidently. He paused for a moment. _Ah. Unless...well, perhaps there is a chance. A small chance. I don't suppose you could get any details on how 'weird' the rat was acting? Penning subversive poetry, perhaps? Biting the ankles of Muggleborns?_

Oh, no, no, no. Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, as Weasley let out a triumphant howl and started going for his wand. However, it was at that very moment that the door to the classroom burst open, and a scowling McGonagall stalked in.

"The nerve of him," she muttered indignantly. "Some of those files are from _decades_ ago, it's no wonder the Minister-" She paused, seemingly noticing the students for the first time. "Why are you not in your seats?"

Unwilling to risk the wrath of McGonagall, the Gryffindors and Slytherins settled down, Harry making sure to put as much distance between him and Weasley as he could. Draco smirked as he slid into the seat next to Harry, flashing him a thumbs up. "Nicely done, Harry."

"I really didn't steal his rat," Harry argued weakly, but Draco merely winked at him cheerfully before turning his attention to McGonagall, his face the very picture of innocence. He caught Hermione's eye from across the room, who mouthed a quick 'sorry' before she, too, focused on the lecture. At least Hermione believed him.

He really, really hoped that he hadn't accidentally stolen the rat.

***

To his relief, Slinky hadn't noticed anything unusual in her lair, and Marvolo claimed that his soul was still fully contained in the diadem. It was uncooperative, he said archly, and rather ungrateful to boot, but at least it was still there.

Harry would have liked to have stayed a bit longer to make sure that Weasley's rat hadn't somehow ended up as a meal for Slinky or something, but unfortunately, he had more pressing concerns to take care of.

Namely, the note that Blaise had given him, which was yet another invitation from Dumbledore.

Harry made sure that he reached the Headmaster's office with plenty of time to spare, hesitating only briefly before knocking on the door. "Come in," the Headmaster's kindly voice called out.

As usual, there was no shortage of things to look at inside the office. Dumbledore's face was completely hidden from sight by several massive stacks of paper that seemed to cover every square inch of his desk. "Minerva is a formidable woman," the Headmaster said by means of explanation, holding a conspiratorial finger to his lips as he sent the stacks directly in front of him flying away with his wand to conceal themselves behind cabinets and underneath the carpeting.

"Yes, Headmaster," Harry said politely, unable to really disagree with this statement of fact. "So, er, what did you want to talk about? Your note didn't really give any details..."

"Ah!" Dumbledore said, beaming. "I wanted to speak to you about your father's book, of course! How are you enjoying it so far?"

"Erm," Harry said, stalling for time. Faced with the Headmaster's expectant gaze, he was entirely unwilling to admit that he hadn't exactly had time to read very much. "Actually, I had a question about it! I was wondering about, er, regret?"

_Really, Potter?_ He could sense Marvolo rolling his eyes.

_You saw the size of that thing! It's got to be in there somewhere!_ Harry thought defensively.

"Chapter twenty-eight, already?" Dumbledore said, eyebrows rising. "Oh, well done, Harry!"

"Uh, yeah," Harry lied, feeling rather guilty at the old man's obvious delight. "So I was wondering, er, how would you go about making someone feel regret about something bad they did?"

"Making someone feel regret?" Dumbledore frowned slightly, clearly bewildered. "Hmm. I don't remember that being part of the book..."

Harry's heart dropped even further. "Well, actually-"

The Headmaster gave him a knowing look. "Ah, I see. Is this about your classmates, Harry?" he asked gently.

_The old fool trusts you so completely,_ Marvolo cackled. _How amusing!_

Harry ignored him. All he could think of was Dumbledore painstakingly taking time out of his week to put together a photo album just for Harry, and here he was repaying that kindness by lying to his face. Not trusting himself to speak, Harry gave him the Headmaster a small nod, looking down at his knees.

"I see," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard sagely. "For some, Harry, regret is a constant companion. And yet, for others, it is more like an unwelcome neighbour who knocks on your door at all hours and forces you to keep up with your paperwork."

"Definitely the latter, I think," Harry said uncertainly.

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. "I assume, of course, that you have tried the obvious course of talking about one's feelings. In that case, may I propose a small thought exercise? Perhaps if your friend were to reflect on what might have been had they done what was right, rather than what was easy, they may come to regret their actions on their own."

_What would have happened had I not made my Horcruxes?_ Marvolo snorted. _Then we wouldn't be having this conversation, Potter._

_That would be a good thing, right? Because...you'd already be ruling the world by now?_ Harry thought encouragingly.

_No, Potter,_ Marvolo said dryly. _Because then I would be dead. Which, despite what_ some _people may try to tell you, is definitely a bad thing._

Harry cleared his throat. "What if that doesn't work, sir?"

"There is always the power of friendship and love, Harry." Dumbledore peered at Harry through his glasses, a slight note of reproach in his voice. "I believe that was covered in chapter 15."

Ignoring the exaggerated gagging noises coming from Marvolo, Harry took the opportunity to excuse himself, promising that he'd make sure to review the book before their next meeting. Unfortunately, it wasn't an empty promise this time - the immense guilt had certainly made sure of that. For a moment, Harry wondered if there was a chapter on emotional blackmail, too.

"The power of friendship," Harry mused. Maybe Dumbledore was on to something. If Harry were to be perfectly honest, he would have to admit that his new friends didn't really seem like the type to regret anything.

And that might make them the perfect solution to solve this dilemma.

***

After yet another exhausting evening spent polling the Slytherins, Harry sourly concluded that the so-called 'power of friendship' was complete hokum. Good for defeating trolls, maybe, but there was certainly no power on earth that could manage to shove even an ounce of empathy through Marvolo's thick metaphorical skull.

Draco, still thinking that Harry was talking about Weasley, had winked knowingly while proposing increasingly elaborate ideas for vengeance until even Harry had grown alarmed at the spasmodic fluttering of his eyelid and excused himself. Blaise had thought about it for a while, then suggested that Harry punish the culprit until they felt sorry for whatever they'd done. This seemed like a good idea on the surface, but ever since Marvolo had rediscovered his love for monologuing, even the threat of silence failed to have much of an impact on his friend. Theo and Pansy had probably had the best suggestions - using spells or a potion to forcibly inflict emotion on someone - but when Harry asked a prefect to cast a Cheering Charm on him, it utterly failed to have any impact on Marvolo's constant whining, and Professor Snape's notes didn't contain any mention of a potion that could make someone regret things. He'd tried asking Hermione if she knew a potion that could do such a thing, but she'd gasped and claimed that such things were Dark Magic, forcing Harry to hastily backtrack.

In desperation, he'd even tried asking Crabbe and Goyle for advice. Several minutes of confused grunting later, he finally figured out that they were probably still stuck on figuring out what the word 'regret' meant.

Honestly, he didn't know what he'd expected.

As a last resort, he tried writing to Aunt Petunia. Her reply was fast, but somewhat peculiar:

> Harry,
> 
> What do you want from us?

Harry wrote back, simply: _I want us to be a family._ Aunt Petunia's letter hadn't really answered his question at all, though, and had left him with a strange feeling of disappointment in the pit of his stomach that he didn't like in the slightest. It was probably better not to think about it at all.

Harry was sure that his friends noticed that he seemed a bit down. Draco and Blaise's jibes at the Gryffindors were rather more boisterous than usual, with the occasional comradely elbow jabbed into Harry's side as if to make sure he'd heard the jokes, and Pansy had wordlessly passed him a napkin filled with his favourite pastries at lunchtime. Harry was rather touched by the gesture.

The only person, however, who was both perceptive enough to notice Harry's mood and socially moronic enough to actually point it out was Lockhart. "Tut, tut, Harry!" he exclaimed. "I can tell your heart hasn't really been put into this poem! It certainly seems inaccurate to say that I distracted the Demented Demiguise of Dunnage with my 'generous tonnage.'"

Draco snickered. "Told you he actually read those things."

"Sorry, sir," Harry said, trying to sound at least a little contrite. He could tell that he hadn't really succeeded.

"Harry, Harry," Lockhart sighed. "Whatever is the matter with you today?"

"Nothing, sir," Harry said flatly.

Lockhart looked a little taken aback for a moment before his blinding smile returned in full force. "I'll give you some advice, young man."

"Please don't," Harry mumbled.

Lockhart ignored him. "Live for the moment! Seize the day without fear or regret! Always sign your autographs with additional flourishes for your most devoted fans! Only by giving it your all will you ever triumph!"

Pansy, to Harry's horror, was industriously noting this speech down word-for-word. "Yes, sir," he said quickly, in an attempt to forestall the coming tide. But Lockhart and Marvolo had one thing in common. Once either of them started monologuing, it was nearly impossible to stop them.

"Looks like he's a fan of yours, Harry," Draco said as they finally left the classroom, unable to fully restrain his laughter. "My condolences."

"It's infuriating," Blaise grumbled. "I hate him so much that I can't even get a proper nap in while listening to his droning."

"Lockhart really needs to go," Harry agreed vehemently, his ears still burning with embarrassment. "Preferably dramatically."

"You should put up a bounty," Draco said, sounding completely serious. "I'll match your stake."

"What, my eternal love and gratitude?" Harry wrinkled his nose. On second thought, Dumbledore's particular brand of advice didn't actually sound all that great when said out loud. "I can't see anyone wanting to sabotage a professor just for Galleons, anyways."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Draco said with a smirk. "I suppose you're right, though. Too risky, anyways."

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "Too bad." He briefly fantasized about Lockhart coming face-to-face with Slinky, but it really was too risky. What if Lockhart wasn't actually exaggerating about his exploits? He would never be willing to put Slinky in danger like that. And he hadn't really talked to her much lately, either-

Harry frowned, leaning forward. For a second, he thought he'd seen Weasley's rat dart in front of them, but then it scurried around the corner and was gone. He hurried into the corridor to check, but couldn't see head or tail of it.

"Harry?" Blaise said questioningly.

Harry shrugged, rejoining his friends. "Just a little jumpy, I guess." After all, it would make no sense for Weasley's rat to be lurking around the Defense classroom.

No, it must have been just his imagination.

***

It was without much hope that Harry headed down to the Chamber of Secrets that evening.

_Maybe we can try the list again,_ he suggested. _Or we could try reading the dictionary again. Regret by boredom, right?_

Marvolo seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. _Bring out the tiara again,_ he commanded, although it seemed to be a little more subdued than usual. _I wish to try something._

_Sure,_ Harry thought with a shrug, already resigning himself to another long, lonely evening. At least he'd be able to get his Transfiguration homework done. He carefully wrapped his hand up in his scarf, pulling the tiara out from its hiding place.

The tiara scintillated with a brilliant glow. With a cry of surprise, Harry's arm flew up to shield his eyes.

Marvolo's Horcrux fell from his grasp, its glow fading as if it had never shone in the first place, and hit the floor, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

And, in his head, Marvolo screamed, a shrill shriek of pain and horrified realization that seemed to stretch on, and on, far into eternity.

_Marvolo!_ Harry thought desperately. _Marvolo!_ He tried to sweep the pieces of the shattered tiara together with his hands, searching frantically for any stray shards. _Marvolo, say something-!_

_WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME HAVE I DONE WITH MY LIFE?_ Marvolo shrieked.

_Stop shouting!_ Harry mentally shouted back. _What's wrong? Are you all right?_

_Am I_ all right? _What do_ you _think, Potter? I was going to be Minister of Magic! I was going to be a more fearsome Dark Lord than Grindelwald ever was! And instead, I'm stuck with YOU!_

_Listen, Marvolo, I'm really sorry for dropping your soul,_ Harry thought anxiously. _I didn't know it was going to break like that! Can you tell which piece it's in?_

Marvolo didn't really seem to be listening to him. His friend let out another shriek of outrage. _And Quirrell! That simpering weakling! I would never have been caught_ dead _wearing something like that!_

For some reason, Harry had a sinking suspicion that Marvolo wasn't talking about Quirrell's turban.

_Hang on a second,_ Harry thought, frowning. He'd dropped the tiara several times before, and nothing had seemed to happen to it. And then there had been that glow - and Marvolo was acting rather odd - _Wait. Did it work?!_ he thought urgently.

_What?_ It might have just been Harry's imagination, but his friend sounded a little more coherent than before. _Oh, the merging? Yes, Potter, it did work. Now I am even more acutely aware of the utter incompetence of my remaining minions than before._

Well, at least his personality was still more-or-less the same. _But how?_ Harry, Marvolo's de facto best minion, thought urgently. _Did Professor Snape's advice work? Did_ Dumbledore's?

_No, and a small mercy that was,_ Marvolo said, shuddering. _Can you imagine how humiliating that would have been?_ His characteristic sullenness crept back into his voice once more. _Although I suppose that what actually happened was not particularly much better._

_Well, get on with it, then,_ Harry thought impatiently. _Whose advice was it?_

Marvolo's reluctant confession nearly sent Harry into a state of shock to rival his friend's own.

_It was Lockhart's._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. Will Lockhart survive this new rivalry with Harry, Marvolo, and a rather overly excitable Pettigrew? Will Hogwarts itself survive unscathed? Spoiler alert: probably not.
> 
> On a real-life note, sorry for the delay! Some personal obligations have made it a bit hard to devote time to writing lately, but here's hoping the next chapter will be up in, if not a timely fashion, at least a halfway decent one!


	15. Rampaging With Rats

All things considered, Harry thought that Marvolo was actually taking his post-life crisis quite well. Once all the screaming had subsided, his friend had actually seemed content to plot in silence for a while.

In retrospect, Harry probably shouldn't have asked him when they were going to do the next bit of soul.

_What do you mean, 'the next one?'_ Marvolo hissed, clearly alarmed.

_Well, why not?_ Harry thought, shrugging. _Now you know the trick, so it should be easy, right?_

_Easy?_ Easy?! _Potter, have any of my incoherent screams over the past several hours given you any sort of impression that this was remotely EASY?_

_Well, they were a bit more coherent than usual, so I thought that was a good thing,_ Harry thought hesitantly, then winced as Marvolo's infuriated screeches began again. Except this time, they were directed at him.

Harry resignedly pulled out his History of Magic textbook, settling down amid a particularly comfy pile of shed skin on the floor of the Chamber. Even if he didn't really feel like studying, there was no denying the fact that the only way he'd actually be able to absorb anything about the goblin rebellions was with Marvolo's shrieks preventing him from nodding off while he read.

As it turned out, there actually was some interesting stuff buried in there. Harry was busily taking notes on the goblin-werewolf reign of terror for future reference when he noticed that Marvolo's voice had finally trailed off. _Do you feel better now?_ he thought.

_I am a dark and terrifying wizard of dubious sanity and infinite malevolence! I do not have 'feelings!'_ Marvolo said indignantly.

_But you hate everything!_ Harry protested. _You just said so!_

Marvolo sniffed, unimpressed. _Hatred is not one of your namby-pamby 'feelings', Potter. It is a_ lifestyle.

Well, at least Marvolo was feeling better. Harry packed up his textbooks and headed back to his dorm, gently patting the snakeskins as he went. He missed Slinky quite a bit, but with Lockhart clearly in possession of some sort of eldritch wisdom, it was far too dangerous to let her stay in the Chamber. He hoped she'd managed to make some friends in the Forbidden Forest. After all, Hagrid couldn't look after her all the time-

_Potter, stop being an idiot,_ Marvolo snapped. _We are talking about a thirty-foot long poisonous beast that_ eats _people. It will be fine. Unlike me._

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. _I've had enough of this,_ he thought, exasperated. _You got your soul back. You seemed happy. Why are you so upset?_

Marvolo's cackle sounded more incredulous than villainous, for once. _Potter, did you really think that getting this much of my soul back would mean anything? I did tell you how many Horcruxes I had, didn't I?_

_Er, no,_ Harry thought, somewhat apologetically. _You didn't._

_The diadem of Ravenclaw was my fifth Horcrux,_ Marvolo said proudly. _So that means that I reclaimed..._ He trailed off for a disturbingly long time, then resumed speaking hurriedly. _Some part of my soul. Yes. A small portion._

_Hang on a second,_ Harry thought. _Are you saying that you don't know how much of your soul you've got?_

_Shut up, Potter,_ Marvolo snapped. _They do not teach such mundane subjects as maths at Hogwarts._

_What's Arithmancy, then?_ Harry thought, frowning.

_That's wizard maths, it's completely different,_ Marvolo hissed snobbily. _Regardless, I now have whatever one thirty-second plus one sixty-fourth of a soul is. Would_ you _like to calculate that?_

_Not a lot of your soul, right,_ Harry thought quickly. _All right, I get it. It was really hard to get even a bit of your soul back. But didn't you say that you needed it to be able to fight Voldemort? Shouldn't we at least try to get the biggest part back?_

Marvolo hummed, considering. _Perhaps,_ he said reluctantly. _The protections on the others may be too strong for your weak, undeveloped powers to overcome, but I am sure that my loyal servant has guarded my first Horcrux well. Still, it will take all our powers of cunning and manipulation to retrieve it without revealing our true nature._

'Our?' Harry rather liked that. _But if he's your loyal servant, can't we just let him know that you survived?_

_No!_ Marvolo sounded uncharacteristically alarmed. _No, no, no. We must be as stealthy as an Imperius in the back! To reveal your identity would be to give up my greatest weapon!_

Harry supposed that made sense, if you tried not to think about it too hard. _Okay,_ he thought. _So who is this servant of yours?_

His jaw dropped at Marvolo's whispered response. _Lucius Malfoy._

***

Blaise accosted Harry as soon as he got back into the dorm. "Where were you?" the other boy asked urgently.

"Er, studying," Harry said, bewildered. He was pretty sure he hadn't missed dinner - at least, he hoped he hadn't.

"Lame, but whatever," Blaise said, rolling his eyes. "Anyways, more importantly - was it you?"

Harry eyed him warily. "You'll have to be more specific, sorry."

"Oh, come on, Harry!" Blaise said impatiently. "Lockhart! Was that you?"

"Huh?" Harry blinked in surprise. Both he and Marvolo had agreed on staying out of Lockhart's way as much as possible. They'd gotten lucky with Quirrell, but both of them knew that there was no way they'd be able to fight such a powerful light magician as Lockhart, especially considering how cunningly he concealed his true strength.

"It really wasn't?" Blaise's eyes narrowed. "I thought it had to be you, with how you keep vanishing off somewhere. But if it's not you, then who was it?"

"What happened to Lockhart?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Montague's been telling _everyone,"_ Blaise said with relish. "Apparently someone charmed all of Lockhart's robes to make, uh, squealing noises every time he spoke." Seeing Harry's frown, he elaborated. "You know, those weird noises Pansy makes whenever she sees him?"

"Oh," Harry said, wrinkling his nose.

"That's not the best part, though," the other boy said eagerly. "At first Lockhart seemed to like it, but it got kind of weird after a while. Some Ravenclaw girl thought it'd impress him if she could dispel it, but there must have been some other spell on the robes. When she tried, they just...disintegrated! He had to run back to his office in only his pants!"

"Ugh," Harry gasped in reflexive disgust. "That's horrible!"

"Isn't it just?" Pansy sighed from somewhere behind Harry's shoulder. "If only it had happened in our class instead."

Both Harry and Blaise made noises of disgust this time, although Blaise's exaggerated gagging was more impressive than Harry's.

"If he wasn't such a powerful wizard, that'd be kind of a mean prank," Harry said, frowning. Dudley had tried to pants him more than once before the Marvolo Incident, and he didn't really want to think about what it would have been like if he hadn't managed to flee. "But since he's so powerful, isn't that sort of thing dangerous? I'd be scared of retaliation, if I'd done it."

"I suppose that does make sense," Pansy said pensively. "Don't people usually take credit for pranks? You're right, Harry - they're probably scared of him."

"You two are such unbelievable poffles," Blaise groaned, throwing up his hands. "Can't you just admit it's funny?"

_Did he just compare you to a Puffskein, Potter?!_ Marvolo said indignantly. _Quick! Hit him with an Exploding Curse! Assert your dominance!_

"Puffskeins," Pansy said haughtily, turning her nose up in the air, "are cute."

"Uh, yeah," Harry said, crossing his arms. "Really cute." Pansy grinned at him.

"You're hopeless," Blaise said, waving goodbye. "I'm going to go talk it over with Draco; at least you can always count on him to slag someone off properly."

"Have fun!" Harry said, waving back.

"I _do_ wonder who it could be, though," Pansy murmured, brow creased. "They'd have to get to Professor Lockhart's robes without being noticed, and pull off some chained spellwork. That sounds rather advanced, doesn't it?"

_Child's play,_ Marvolo snorted dismissively.

_Maybe a seventh-year, then?_ Harry thought. An overwhelming feeling of dismissal was his only answer. Marvolo clearly didn't care.

Still, as he debated the mystery with Pansy over dinner, Harry realized that this situation could work to their advantage. After all, the sooner Lockhart was forced out of the school, the sooner Slinky would be safe. And if Lockhart did get into some sort of retaliatory war with a student, the Headmaster would surely have to act.

Perhaps it was time for Harry to give his Professor a little encouragement of his own.

***

> Dear Lucius,
> 
> May I call you Lucius? I certainly hope I can.
> 
> Ever since our eyes met across that Inferius-infested pit, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I wrote so many poems to you in my _diary,_ but I'm afraid that I've misplaced it. Even if I found it, the pages would be all blank. I don't suppose you have a diary you could spare, do you? Maybe an old one, just lying around? A chance for a spot of spring cleaning?
> 
> Write me back soon (but not in any diary you might happen to have lying around, just in case you get possessed or something)!
> 
> With dark and gleeful anticipation,
> 
> A Friend

_Marvolo, are you sure this is going to work? I feel physically repulsed just writing this._

_Who is the expert here on writing suggestive letters to their minions?_

_Well, I guess it's you-_

_Just write what I tell you to, Potter. Lucius was always a subtle one. I am sure he will heed the unspoken wishes of his master._

_Whatever you say, Marvolo._

> Bellatrix,
> 
> For the last time, STOP WRITING TO ME.
> 
> I thought that Azkaban was supposed to be secure?
> 
> The Minister will hear of this.
> 
> In complete refutation of any prior connections,
> 
> Lucius Malfoy

_I told you so._

_Oh, shut up, Potter._

***

_Remember,_ Marvolo lectured him, _start small. Disembowelment is the end goal, not the starting point._

_Thanks, Marvolo,_ Harry thought gratefully. Hoping that this would go better than their last plan, he waited, biding his time, until that magical moment arrived. Before Hermione's hand could even so much as twitch, his shot into the air like a wizarding cracker.

"Ah, Harry," Lockhart said, sounding somewhat startled. He looked decidedly more haggard than usual, his robes hastily tailored and protectively cinched tight around his waist. "I'm afraid we won't be doing re-enactments today, sadly."

"I had a question, actually," Harry said brightly. "What is the best defense?"

Lockhart rubbed his chin pensively. "I've always found that good dental hygiene goes a long way."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He'd been hoping for 'a good offense', but perhaps Lockhart's answer spoke to a hidden stratagem far too cunning for Harry to comprehend yet.

He'd have to dig deeper.

Over the next few days, Harry discovered that Lockhart believed Charms to be the most crucial discipline, that he had disappointingly few opinions on world domination, and that matching one's robes to one's eye colour was an excellent way to stand out in photos. Frustratingly, Harry just couldn't quite figure out how to fit those facts together to decipher Lockhart's master plan.

Since Blaise was firmly in the anti-Lockhart camp, Harry found himself discussing the situation with Draco and Pansy in between classes. While Draco treated this new information with the same amount of eye-rolling sarcasm as he did pretty much everything else, Pansy didn't seem quite as pleased by it as Harry had thought she would be.

"It just doesn't seem very _useful,"_ Pansy sighed. "Maybe he doesn't want you to figure out his master plan, so he lied to you and gave you random facts?"

"I don't think heroes are supposed to lie," Harry said, frowning.

"Lockhart's different," Pansy sighed dreamily. "He's cunning, and clever, and wonderful-"

"About half as clever as a Cornish pixie, I suppose," Draco snickered. Pansy whipped around to glare at him.

"He's definitely cunning," Harry said hurriedly. "But don't you think it's a little weird that he hasn't done anything about the prank yet, other than replace his robes?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's cried into his mirror about it," Draco said nastily. "That's probably about the only other thing he's good at, besides talking about himself."

"Jealous, Draco?" Pansy said, sweetly enough that it was clear she was concealing murderous rage. Draco took a wary step backward as she spun to the side, clearly working up towards a proper monologue. "I'll have you know that Lockhart would never, _ever-"_ Her voice trailed off abruptly, ending in a soft choking sound.

"Pansy?" Harry gasped, alarmed. "Pansy, what's wrong?" Her mouth worked soundlessly as her arm rose to point down the corridor to their left. Harry braced himself as he moved forward cautiously, hesitant to face anything that could drive even _Pansy_ to silence.

The sight that met his eyes stunned him with shock, as well.

Lockhart was dangling upside down in the air in the middle of the hallway, seemingly suspended from one of his boots, which he seemed to be in the futile process of trying to remove. A string of decidedly non-heroic curses flowed incessantly from between his admittedly heroically-gritted teeth as his arms flailed wildly in the air.

Draco began to laugh uncontrollably.

Lockhart let out an incredibly undignified yelp, hastily attempting to twist around to get a better look at the source of the laughter. He winced, kneading a hand against his lower back. "Oh, bloody hell...ah, I mean, students!" he said. "Just what I needed...I was testing a new spell that I've invented, you see, and it seems to have gone awry..."

"Professor Lockhart," Pansy gasped, sounding almost as breathless as he was. "Are you all right?"

"Are you serious, Pansy?" Draco said between his snickers. "This isn't his own spell. He got pranked again, and he can't even manage to get out of it by himself."

"That's not true!" Pansy said. The corners of her mouth turned downward. "That can't be true, right, Professor?"

"Ridiculous!" Lockhart exclaimed. The effect of his oratory was rather diminished by his alarmingly red face, which was clearly getting more and more blood flow by the second. "I am precisely where I need to be!"

"So you won't mind if we head off then, Professor," Draco said, fake-innocence dripping from his voice. "Since you clearly meant this to happen, and all."

As the gears turned in Harry's head, Lockhart's squawks of indignation faded away into the background. Surely, anyone cunning enough to somehow inspire Marvolo to feel regret would never be caught by the pranks of a mere student. But how could he reconcile that fact with the frankly rather pathetic sight before him?

Once again, inspiration struck him like a lightning bolt. "I've got it!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "I know your secret!"

Lockhart made a strangled noise as he attempted to flop around to face Harry, eyes wide. "You what?" he croaked.

"Your master plan!" Harry said, smiling encouragingly at him. "You're too smart to incriminate yourself by fighting back against a mere student, so you're forcing them to expose themselves by using yourself as bait! It's genius!"

Pansy turned to look at him. "Really?" she said hopefully.

"That's brilliant!" Lockhart gasped. "Ah, I mean - yes, of course! I'm brilliant! That is definitely what I thought you meant by that! How very clever of you, Mr. Potter!"

Pansy clasped her hands in front of her. "So you're doing this to protect the person pranking you?" She sounded a little dubious at first, but Lockhart flashed a somewhat strained grin at the three of them, and she melted instantly. "How _gallant_ of you, Professor!"

"Really?" Draco demanded, exasperated.

A muted thud echoed through the corridor as Lockhart's arms fell limply against the floor.

"I think he's passed out," Harry said, alarmed. "How long was he hanging there, anyways?"

"I'll get a prefect!" Pansy gasped. "Hold on, Professor! We'll save you!"

"Make sure you get one with a camera," Draco drawled.

Harry flinched, expecting Pansy to explode, but she just stared at Draco with a look of wonder on her face. "And use the photos as blackmail for private tuition," she breathed. "Draco, you're brilliant!"

"I know I am," Draco said with automatic smugness. "Hang on - that's not why I said-" But Pansy was already long gone. He turned to Harry, shaking his head incredulously. "She's gone mad, hasn't she?"

"Draco, this is great!" Harry said happily. "Maybe we can convince him to teach us his most powerful spells! Or his legendary secret wisdom! Or-"

"Never mind," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. "You're mad, too."

"Don't worry, Draco!" Harry said. "I'm 'good' insane!"

Draco gaped at him. "What in Merlin's name is _that_ supposed to mean, Harry?!"

Harry was about to remedy his friend's woeful lack of knowledge on Marvolo's essential Theory of Dark Overlordship when Pansy ran back into the corridor, a tall figure trailing after her. "Oh, dear," the Ravenclaw prefect gasped, a hand flying to her mouth as she caught sight of Lockhart's predicament. She immediately raised her wand, chanting a quick incantation, and Lockhart tumbled unceremoniously to the floor.

"Professor!" Pansy exclaimed. The prefect hurried to the fallen Lockhart's side, muttering something as she waved her wand over his body. With a groan, their professor sat up slowly, clutching his head.

"I was having the most horrid dream," Lockhart mumbled. "My outfit clashed with my face; it was simply _terrible..."_ With a gasp, he raised his hands, frantically patting his features. "My face! My beautiful, elegant face! Is it all right?"

"Don't worry, Professor," the prefect assured him. "You landed on the back of your head."

"Oh, thank Sleekeazy," Lockhart said fervently. He peered around, giving the three first-years a conspiratorial wink. "Well, then! I think we can all agree that there's nothing more to discuss here, yes?"

"Your secret is safe with us!" Harry assured him, smiling reassuringly.

Lockhart laughed nervously. "Now, now, Harry, there's no secrets to be had here!"

"Really? Can you tutor me in concealment, then?" Harry said, perking up.

Lockhart's smile froze, his eye twitching briefly in an eerily Snape-like manner. "Harry," he said, sounding rather strained, "might I suggest you avoid using such, ah, unpleasant terms? Someone might think you have something to hide. We wouldn't want _that,_ now, would we?"

Harry whipped out his quill, frantically scratching down notes on his hand in the absence of parchment. "My first lesson," he whispered happily.

Lockhart's mouth opened and closed. "Well, fame can make some people eccentric," he said, with another nervous laugh. Harry industriously wrote this down, too. Lockhart's eye twitched again. "I simply cannot deal with this right now," the Defense Professor muttered, patting his pockets reflexively. He sighed in relief as he pulled out an ivory comb, clutching it possessively to his chest. "I don't suppose you have a compact mirror I could borrow?" he asked the Ravenclaw as he pulled the comb through his shiny gold hair.

Which immediately turned a shade of violent purple that really did clash with his clothing.

"Oh, I-" the prefect began, then stopped dead, horrorstruck.

"What?" Lockhart asked. His frown grew steadily uneasier as he looked from face to face, gaping at him in various expressions of dismay and one grin of malicious glee from Draco. "Come, now, what's the matter-"

That was when he caught sight of the comb in his hand, and the single, malevolently gleaming purple strand tangled in its teeth.

Lockhart's screams were probably audible in Hogsmeade.

***

> Dear Aunt Petunia,
> 
> Great news! I now have yet another teacher who wants to kill me!

***

> Dear Mr. Malfoy,
> 
> I am an eminent and powerful Dark Lord who was recently forced to flee the country due to a rather unfortunate incident involving three heroes and a puzzling mental breakdown. I have considerable assets which I was forced to leave behind in my haste, and am currently looking for a capable minion to whom I can entrust their retrieval.
> 
> I would be pleased to offer the position of Best Minion to anyone who could aid me in my villainous plans, with benefits including: up to two small European countries, always being chosen last when it comes time to feed the basilisk, and ten percent of all seized assets from our vanquished enemies (minus standard provisions for your Cruciatus protection fee, of course).
> 
> In order to retrieve my scattered possessions, I need some sort of vessel for facilitating dark resurrections. Needless to say, you will be rewarded generously at the moment of my inevitable triumph.
> 
> Please ensure that any attached packages are protected with the appropriate anti-detection charms. Make haste, Lucius, as the moment of my return is nigh.
> 
> With all my malevolent glee,
> 
> The Dark Lord Mysterius

***

> Bellatrix, I know this is you.
> 
> The Nigerian Archmage scam? Really?
> 
> To whichever Ministry official is undoubtedly intercepting this message, I was under the Imperius curse and performed no villainous tasks of my own volition.
> 
> Also, this surveillance is unauthorized. My lawyer will hear of this.
> 
> -Lucius Malfoy

_I don't think this approach is working particularly well, Marvolo,_ Harry thought glumly.

_Why does he think I sound like Bellatrix?_ Marvolo demanded, aggrieved. _I do NOT sound like Bellatrix? Do I?_

_Erm, no?_

_Come off it, Potter, you don't even know Bellatrix,_ Marvolo grumbled, although he sounded somewhat pleased.

_I really think we should just try telling him who you are,_ Harry insisted. _This is going nowhere fast-_

_Absolutely not!_ Marvolo hissed. _Did you see that letter? He claimed he was under the Imperius, of all things! How insulting! No, Potter. We must sway him to our will on our own merits, not on the strength of past associations that should very definitely remain secret until I am restored._

_Okay, fine,_ Harry thought. _But then we have to try this my way, too._

_I suppose it cannot hurt...my minion,_ Marvolo said grudgingly.

Harry was truly touched.

That night, Harry sidled over to Draco's side of the dorm. "Hey, Draco," he hissed. "Are you awake?"

"Don't be so clandestine, Harry, Crabbe and Goyle's snores drown all normal conversation out anyways," Draco drawled, poking his head out from the curtains of his bed. "What is it?"

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. "I was wondering," Harry said, trying his best to sound cunning, "how you feel about really, really Dark magical artifacts?"

Slowly, a wide grin split Draco's face. "Why, Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world," he purred. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Will your father hear of this?" Harry asked hopefully.

Draco gave him his best smirk. _"Absolutely."_

In his head, Marvolo and Harry danced a delightfully evil jig. They had their way in.

***

As the weeks went on, the pranks on Lockhart grew steadily more outrageous in scope and frequency. The second-year Slytherins filed into class one day only to find the entire room's worth of furniture stuck on the ceiling, with Lockhart apparently fastened to his desk with a Sticking Charm and doing his best to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary for the rest of the lecture. The next week, one of his portraits took to following students around the school like a lost, creepily smiling puppy, sending Lockhart running all over the castle in an attempt to retrieve his favourite painting.

Hermione seemed to be torn between concern over the escalating pranks and concern for, of all people, Weasley. "Ron's lost his wand," she said without preamble as she plopped down into their usual spot at the library.

Draco would have a field day when he heard. "What d'you mean, he's lost his wand?" Harry said incredulously. "What sort of wizard is he?"

"I know!" Hermione burst out. "It doesn't make much sense, does it? Ron might be a bit careless, but he's not _that_ bad!"

"That's not exactly a glowing recommendation, Hermione."

"That's not what I mean. Ron's saying-" She looked around uneasily, then leaned forward, dropping her voice to barely more than a whisper. "He's saying someone _stole_ his wand."

"Stole it?" Harry frowned, bewildered. Neville wouldn't ever do anything like that, and Dean and Seamus seemed nice enough, if a bit distant. "I don't think that sounds very likely. Maybe he's just trying to cover up for him losing it?"

"I...I don't know," Hermione admitted. She dithered for a second, uncertain, before blurting out: "Harry, Ron's saying it must have been the Slytherins who did it. You know, like with his rat-"

"What?!" Harry stared at her, betrayed, his head spinning. "You think _I_ did it? You think I'm some sort of, what, a thief?" His voice came out louder than intended, and Madam Pince sent them a sharp glare from her position near the entrance.

"No! No, Harry, I don't think it was _you!"_ Hermione exclaimed. "I thought that maybe Malfoy-"

"Why, just because he's a Slytherin?" Harry said coldly. "For your information, _none_ of us are thieves. And Draco didn't do it, he thinks-" He stopped abruptly, unwilling to say that Draco thought Harry was the culprit. "Never mind." He grabbed his textbook, wrenching it open with more force than strictly necessary.

"It's not because he's in Slytherin," Hermione said desperately. "It's - Harry, you've seen the way he acts! He fights with Ron all the time! Just last week, he insulted him for not being a proper wizard! Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

Grudgingly, Harry had to admit that it did sound a _bit_ suspicious. Still, how would a first-year be able to pull something like that off? He said as much to Hermione, adding: "If anyone stole it - not that I'm saying they did - wouldn't it make more sense for the thief to be a Gryffindor? They'd already have access to your common room, after all."

"Maybe," Hermione said, looking troubled. She looked down, ashamed. "I'm sorry I said that. About the Slytherins, I mean."

"It's okay," Harry said, although it sort of wasn't. They spent the rest of the study session in somewhat uncomfortable silence, broken only by the turning of pages and the scratching of quills.

The next day, someone set an entire horde of Transfigured leeches loose in Lockhart's desk, which broke free sometime in the middle of a sixth-year Defense lecture and sent both students and professor alike running away screaming until Snape stalked in and incinerated the lot of them in one impressive blast.

The timing, Harry thought, was very interesting.

And he began to wonder if, perhaps, Lockhart wasn't the person he should be trying to take lessons from.

Maybe the prankster, cunning abductor of Weasley's wand, was the sort of person who would make a far more effective minion instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're rapidly approaching the end of Harry's first year at Hogwarts! Two more chapters, and he'll be heading home for a very Marvolo-ous summer. The world may never quite recover :D
> 
> A huge thanks to the talented Duinemerwen for her advice on plot, pacing, and Pettigrew, without which this chapter would have been a lot less entertaining.
> 
> I really wanted to fit the reason why Lockhart's advice worked somewhere in here, but it didn't quite flow correctly. Basically, his little "carpe diem" speech made Marvolo wonder - if his Horcruxes weren't exactly his best idea, maybe he actually *hadn't* been giving it his all? His punctured pride from this realization that his decisions might not necessarily have been the best led him to regret his actions a little, at which the poor, beleaguered Horcrux essentially went "Good enough!" and merged back.
> 
> Unfortunately, he'll have to seriously step up his regret game to get his more dominant Horcruxes back...


	16. Lock and Key

"It's the Weasley twins," Draco announced abruptly as he flopped down on the common room sofa, a rather self-satisfied smirk on his face. His expectant smile faded as he looked from a clearly bored Blaise to Harry, who hadn't even bothered to glance up from his book. "They're the ones who've been torturing Lockhart!"

"We know," Blaise said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Montague's been telling everyone for the past three hours. He won't shut up about it."

"What?!" Outraged, Draco twisted around, sending a glare in Montague's direction. The older boy took no more notice of him than Blaise and Harry had; he appeared to be engaged in a heated argument with Gemma Farley, who was defending Lockhart's honour rather viciously indeed. "Merlin, Farley's spitting nails!"

Harry immediately snapped his textbook shut. "Are they finally dueling?" he asked eagerly, trying to get a better viewing angle.

"Not yet, I'll let you know when to duck," Blaise said, waving his hand languidly. Harry sighed in disappointment, reaching for his book again.

"Very well," Draco snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "You may have heard the rumour about the Weasley twins. But," he said triumphantly, "I bet you haven't heard what their next trick is going to be!"

"Switching him with one of Kettleburn's animals during a lesson," Blaise said.

"Bribing Peeves to get chewing gum in his hair," Harry said at the same time.

Draco frowned. "I heard they were going to goad him into starting a dueling club."

Blaise let out an undignified snort of laughter. "Ha! What are the chances of that happening?"

Harry had to admit that, although the idea of a dueling club sounded cool, the chances of Lockhart finally teaching his secret knowledge to any duelists was probably next to nothing. "So...none of us have any idea, then?"

"One of us _could_ be right, I suppose," Blaise said doubtfully. "But the real question is, why isn't Dumbledore doing anything?"

_That's easy. Because he's insane,_ Marvolo said helpfully.

Draco sneered unpleasantly. "That's easy. They're Gryffindors. They get away with anything."

"I got away with accidentally setting a troll on fire," Harry pointed out.

Draco waved this off. "Yes, but you're famous."

"So is Lockhart."

"Undeservedly," Blaise added, scowling.

Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry when he failed to say anything in the Defense professor's defense. "Finally given up on Lockhart, have you?"

"He's just too heroic," Harry said glumly. He understood Lockhart's not wanting to obliterate mere students with his mastery of magic, of course. But surely after the fourth time he'd been strung up in the hallways, he would have finally found an upper limit to the whole 'self-sacrifice' thing?

It _was_ rather brave of Lockhart to keep coming back to face new humiliation every day, though. Harry had absolutely no idea what was going through his head. If he had been the target of such vicious pranks, he would have holed up in the Chamber of Secrets weeks ago with Slinky at his back and a disgustingly excessive amount of booby traps at his front.

_Idiots, the lot of them,_ Marvolo said sagely. _No common sense whatsoever. Far better to be a respectable villain._

_We're respectable?_ Harry thought, astonished.

_When we take over the world, we will rewrite the histories to omit whatever the hell the last two years have been, Potter,_ Marvolo said soothingly. _One of the underappreciated perks of world domination._

An elbow in the side jostled Harry out of his conversation. "Did you go into a trance or something, Harry?" Blaise said incredulously. "You missed it!"

"Wait, what?" Harry's eyes widened as a groaning Montague staggered over to the sofa, trying vainly to halt the stream of treacle flowing from his nose. "That looks nasty," he said sympathetically.

"I was just speaking the truth," Montague grumbled, laying his hand dramatically on his brow. His attempt at looking noble was somewhat sullied by the effect of his nasal catastrophe.

"Next time, you should probably speak the truth somewhere far away from Gemma Farley," Blaise said dryly. Montague blew his nose loudly in response.

"Were you really defending a pair of Gryffindors for three hours?" Draco demanded. "The Weasleys are blood traitors, the lot of them-"

"Bloody menaces, more like," Montague said darkly. "Vicious maniacs, those two. I wouldn't slag them in public if I were you, firstie."

"How would I go about finding these Weasley twins?" Harry asked.

Montague raised his head to look straight at Harry, eyes burning madly in his treacle-streaked visage. "You don't find them, Potter. They find _you."_ And then, with an evil glint in his eye, he turned and deliberately sneezed on Gemma Farley as she stalked past him towards the common room exit.

The chaos that followed made it abundantly clear that Harry wasn't about to get any useful information from Montague for a long, long time.

***

And so, he waited.

For all of Draco's talk about Dark magic, the curses he knew were surprisingly tame. They certainly didn't hold a candle to the horrors contained in _Magicke Moste Evile,_ although Harry certainly wasn't inclined to bring that particular volume up. Still, some of them seemed useful enough - to distract someone in a duel while he ran away, maybe.

And besides, every time Draco smirked meaningfully at him while reading another letter from his father, Harry was able to congratulate himself on a job well done.

It was slow work, of course. But, unlike Marvolo, Harry was patient. He had all the delights of Hogwarts to entertain him while he waited, after all.

With the help of Professor Snape's notes, Harry had catapulted into second place in Potions class, much to Hermione's fury. Draco still received top marks, of course, but Snape had taken to merely grunting as he inspected Harry's potions, without even the tiniest hint of a sneer. Once, Harry could have sworn that the man even gave him a fractional nod of approval.

Harry couldn't quite manage to wipe his proud grin off his face for the remainder of the week.

But, even as Harry's situation with Snape (and presumably Lucius Malfoy) improved by leaps and bounds, Lockhart's situation degenerated even further into madness.

The reputation of the Weasley twins grew to dizzying heights. Witnesses swore up and down that the twins had been in Hogsmeade when Lockhart was cursed into singing increasingly scandalous versions of the Hogwarts school song every time he opened his mouth to speak. Even Professor Flitwick, when called in to deal with the aftermath of the enchanted breadstick army that had ambushed Lockhart with copious amounts of sauce, claimed that the Weasley twins had been in their third week of detention with him at the time of the incident. They could not possibly be behind any of the recent pranks, he'd declared.

Naturally, this only made the school more convinced of their genius.

Perhaps, at some point, a few of the Hufflepuffs might have wondered if the pranks were going too far. This was certainly not something that the Gryffindors considered as they raucously cheered the puzzlingly grim-looking twins every evening after the latest prank. Nor was it something the Slytherins particularly cared about. Lockhart's continued weakness had turned the hopes of all but his most ardent supporters into crushing disappointment, and, although none of them would be caught dead publicly praising a Gryffindor, there were more than a few quiet chuckles shared between friends at the Defense Professor's ongoing misfortune.

Later, they would all agree that the transformation of Lockhart's personal coffee mug into a gnashing eldritch maw had probably been the last straw.

***

For once, absolute silence reigned in the Defense classroom, broken only by the sound of Hannah Abbott's pitiful sobs. Pansy's hands were pressed tightly against her mouth in horror, and even Blaise seemed unable to do anything more than just gape. Harry suppressed a shudder as he stared at the smoking remains of what had once been the Hufflepuff girl's beloved Puffskein.

"You...you monster!" Lavender Brown burst out, leaping to her feet. "You _killed_ it!"

"It was a trap!" Lockhart bellowed, eyes wild. "It _blinked_ at me!"

"It was a Puffskein!" Lavender shrieked. "That is literally the _only_ thing they do!"

Harry reached out tentatively, tapping Draco on the shoulder. "Draco," he said faintly. "This would be a really good time for your father to hear of this." The other boy just nodded, struck speechless.

"I know you're here!" Lockhart pirouetted sharply, wand at the ready. "Show yourself, villain!"

Harry slowly sunk down in his chair, trying to use the desk as cover. He knew that he didn't have much common sense. But even he figured that asking Lockhart what spell he'd used to implode that Puffskein was probably a bad idea.

_Crawl behind the desks, Potter,_ Marvolo advised him. _I've never seen a destructive spell that looked so much like a misfire before. Plausible deniability_ and _power?_ His voice was filled with clear admiration.

It seemed that many of the other first-years had had the same idea, although some escapes were conducted with more dignity than others. No-one seemed inclined to linger. But regardless, when a red-eyed Hannah and a still-fuming Lavender came around to the Slytherin table with a petition to fire Lockhart immediately, Harry and his friends signed it without hesitation.

Unfortunately, judging by Lockhart's rather undignified incursion into the Great Hall two days later to make off with a stockpile of food, it seemed as if the students' signatures hadn't quite been enough.

"He's still got support among the rest of the school governors," Draco said, clearly disgruntled, as he scanned his father's letter. "And apparently Dumbledore's refusing to let him go until the end of the term. Since there's only two months left, and all."

"What do you mean, he's still got support?" Blaise demanded. "He blew up a Puffskein! What sort of deranged mind blows up a Puffskein?"

_Well, actually-_

_Don't answer that,_ Harry thought quickly.

"Apparently it's 'not that bad', compared to what some of the other Defense professors have done," Draco said, scowling. "Father says he won't move against Dumbledore and the other governors on this without something bigger."

"What, like blowing up a student instead?" Blaise said incredulously.

Draco puffed himself up indignantly. "Father says-"

"Oi, want a badge?"

Harry nearly fell off the bench in surprise as he turned around to stare right into the faces of the Weasley twins. Each was clutching a large box in their hands, filled almost to the brim with glinting objects.

"What in Merlin's name is a snotpuff?" Draco demanded in disgust.

"Say NO To PUFFskein Slayers," the twin on the right said solemnly, "is the only moral slogan in these dark times."

"We stand for Puffskein rights!" the twin on the left declared passionately. "No longer shall the perpetrator of this vile injustice walk free through the halls of Hogwarts!"

"For Fwoozle!" they declared simultaneously, balancing their boxes on a hip with one hand while pressing the bright red SNOTPUFFS badges on their chests with the other. With a flash of light, the image changed to that of an insane-looking Lockhart caricature, flames dancing in its eyes as weeping Puffskeins fled in all directions.

"Fwoozle?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Hannah Abbott's dearly departed Puffskein," one twin said gravely.

"May it haunt Lockhart's nightmares forever," the other said.

"That's repulsive," Draco said, loathsome fascination curling his lip as he stared at the image. "It's wonderful. I'll take ten."

"Aww, what a _good_ firstie you are," one of the twins said, grinning as he passed Draco a handful of badges.

"You remind us of our little brother," the other said slyly. Draco's face turned scarlet with outrage.

"That...that was beautiful," Pansy said, sounding a little choked up. She pinned the badge to the front of her robes immediately. "For Fwoozle."

Blaise shrugged, grabbing a badge. "That was horrendous. But I hate Lockhart, so who cares?"

"How did you do it?" Harry blurted out as he took his own snotpuff badge. "The pranks, I mean. All those advanced spells, your alibis, the devastating psychological warfare - how?"

The twins looked at each other, sighing. They turned back to Harry, speaking dizzyingly quickly.

"We-"

"-didn't-"

"-do it!"

"Not this time, at least," they said in unison.

Harry's shoulders slumped. He should have known. Gryffindor or not, of course they wouldn't want to just admit their guilt to a first-year who they barely knew. Let alone teach him. What had he been thinking?

"Who _did_ do it, then?" Draco's cheeks were still slightly pink, but he managed to rally quite a passable smirk to accompany his question.

Surprisingly, the twins hesitated, turning to look at Harry. "We don't know," the one on the left admitted at last. "It could be a ghost."

"It can't be a ghost," Theo said suddenly. He'd pilfered one of Draco's badges, which was winking innocently on his robes. "What?" he said, shrugging as the rest of them stared at him. "I've been sitting right next to you all this time, you know. I'm not deaf. And besides, ghosts can't cast spells."

"Then it's someone who can confound a very powerful enchantment," the one on the right said grimly. "Someone with a pretty sick sense of humour."

"Sick?" Pansy said, leaning forward.

But the twins didn't seem inclined to reveal any more. With a quick joke and an excuse, they moved along down the Slytherin table, never looking back.

"What could they be hiding?" Pansy said half to herself, frowning. "They can't be talking about an artifact; there's no way a _Weasley_ would ever be able to afford such a thing-"

"You think they were telling the truth?" Draco scoffed incredulously.

"Sorry, Pansy, but it has to be them," Blaise agreed, shaking his head. "It wouldn't make sense for it to be anyone else."

But Harry wasn't so sure. Surely if they were going to lie, they would have made up a better story? Besides, the thought of Weasley's own brothers stealing his wand had always bothered Harry. Considering how unpopular Lockhart was, Weasley would surely have willingly lent his wand to them if they'd asked him for it.

"Photographs," he said out loud.

Draco frowned at him. "What?"

Harry shrugged. "You said your father needs more evidence, right? Lockhart has a raving mental breakdown practically every day. If we follow him around with cameras, we'll get more than enough proof to convince the school governors he should be fired." And, Harry thought privately, perhaps they'd be able to capture evidence of the real culprit, as well.

"That's...actually a very sane and reasonable idea, Harry," Draco said slowly. "What's the catch?"

"There's no catch!" Harry said, offended. Well, not one that he was going to say out loud, anyway. What did Draco take him for?

"I'm in," Blaise said, grinning evilly. "More pictures for my collection." Everyone did their best to pretend they hadn't heard that.

"I'll do it, too," Pansy said unexpectedly. She flushed slightly when the others turned to look at her. "I can't bear to watch this any more. He was obviously great once, but this is just _sad."_

"Malfoys do not carry cameras around, like...like common workers," Draco said haughtily. "It is beneath our dignity-"

"You don't know how to use one, do you?" Blaise said, clearly holding back a snicker.

"That's what _house-elves_ are for! What are you, peasants?"

"I don't know how to use one either, Draco," Harry said quickly. "Maybe we can learn together?"

Luckily, that managed to calm everyone down. And if Draco's camera was rather tastelessly monogrammed - "It might as well have 'Not a Peasant' written on it in gold," Blaise grumbled - nobody was tactless enough to say anything about it to his face. All that was left was to wait for the next inevitable incident, and everything would fall nicely into place.

Yet, to everyone's surprise - most especially Lockhart's - that incident never came.

***

For the first week, they'd waited with bated breath, watching Lockhart's every twitch and spasm as he glared between the cameras and their badges. It seemed as if his instinctive reaction to cameras was to begin preening, but just as he began, he would hiss and draw back in a disturbingly vampire-like fashion. Presumably, he was too afraid of traps to expose his famous smile for even a second.

It really _was_ kind of pitiful, Harry thought with a wince.

Yet, shockingly, nothing happened. Even when Harry sneaked out at night under cover of his Cloak, patrolling near Lockhart's office in hopes of spotting any intruders, absolutely nobody came by. Nor did Lockhart ever leave his quarters. Rumour had it that he'd started barricading himself in, finally having gained the common sense to hunker down and weather out the storm.

But the storm simply would not arrive, and Lockhart's paranoia grew more evident by the day.

The student body wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Lockhart's die-hard supporters claimed that he'd finally flushed the pranksters out of hiding and enchanted them into compliance, although one glance at Lockhart's crazed stare clearly belied that theory. The most popular theory was that the Weasley twins, horrified at Fwoozle's death, had backed down after realizing that their prank had gone too far.

_No, no,_ Marvolo said impatiently. _This is the most basic trick in a villain's repertoire. It's all 'good minion', 'useful minion', until - HA! A surprise Cruciatus to the face! Keeps them on their toes!_

_I don't know about that,_ Harry thought hesitantly. _If they really are good minions, wouldn't it be better to reward them instead?_

Marvolo sniffed. _Betrayal builds character, Potter. What do they teach children these days?_ Consistency? _Disgusting._ He paused for a moment, then let out a high-pitched cackle. _Besides, feeding people to your basilisk all the time gets boring after a while. And expensive. It's so hard to find decent minions, you know._

_Gee, I wonder why,_ Harry thought, rolling his eyes. With years of well-honed practice, he tuned out Marvolo's grumbling, returning to the roll of parchment in front of him.

Lockhart's ongoing trauma had vastly improved his teaching. Now, instead of acting out scenes from his books and regaling everyone with tales of heroism, he simply had students write out essays on what they would do if confronted with monsters from his books in increasingly outlandish situations. It was actually sort of fun, even if Harry suspected that Lockhart wasn't actually reading their homework any more. Still, with only a couple of days left until exams, Harry was just grateful for the free time.

Most of his spare time in Defense class ended up being spent writing letters to Aunt Petunia. To Harry's shock, his aunt had begun to write back more frequently, and often with more than a few details. Dudley had managed to barely pass maths - a fact which brought the Dursleys no small amount of pride and joy - and Uncle Vernon was apparently coming up for a promotion. On Harry's end, it was a little harder to write back without talking about magic, but with some careful phrasing, he thought he did a pretty decent job of it. He always took care to congratulate the Dursleys on their latest accomplishments, too, and wished Uncle Vernon good luck for his interview.

On her part, Aunt Petunia never quite acknowledged what he wrote about his school life, but he thought that she probably approved of Draco - who was, after all, quite rich. And she'd even started asking some questions about magic on her own - such as what Dumbledore was like (a bit barmy, Harry had replied honestly, but an incredibly nice fellow), whether the teachers really did want to kill him (Harry debated this for quite a while before writing that there had been one, yes, but that he'd already been quite literally fired), and how the owls managed to find them to deliver Harry's letters (Harry hadn't known the answer to this one, but Gemma Farley had told him that they tracked 'wizards by magic and Muggles by name', whatever that meant).

Considering all that, her latest letter had been surprisingly short. It was written in a slightly shaky hand, too, as if his Aunt had actually been overcome with emotion while writing to him.

> Harry,
> 
> You really are a good boy.
> 
> You wouldn't let anything happen to us, would you?

Harry winced. Clearly, telling her about Snape's little jokes about using him for Potions ingredients had been a mistake. He wrote back a long letter assuring her that, no matter what, he certainly would never let any wizards or witches harm them. They were family, after all. 

He didn't receive a letter back, but that was okay. He'd be seeing her pretty soon, after all.

And it looked as if, at long last, things would be different between them.

***

By the time the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam rolled around, Draco and Pansy had long since given up on carrying their cameras around. Blaise hung onto his with the dogged stubbornness of pure hatred - Marvolo _thoroughly_ approved - while Harry simply refused to give up on the hope of identifying the prankster. There was no way they would just let it end like this.

And, in one fell stroke, Harry's patience was greatly rewarded.

He had barely finished reading the first question on the exam when the room, for lack of a better word, _roiled._ With a loud boom, Lockhart's desk morphed into a horrifyingly large spider wearing a tiny, adorable party hat, which launched itself at Lockhart with the speed of a striking basilisk-

-and passed through him, as if through thin air.

"I'VE GOT YOU!" With a triumphant howl of primal rage, an extraordinarily disheveled Lockhart leaped from the shadows and launched himself at the supply cabinet, toppling it over with a deafening crash as his illusionary duplicate faded away from the front of the room. "It's OVER!" he bellowed, belly-flopping and writhing on the floor as he grasped for something unseen. Grimacing, he staggered to his feet, brandishing a small and fuzzy object at the class. "Behold! I have captured the fiend behind all of this chaos! The perpetrator of my latest book - Dueling With Doppelgangers!"

Pansy began to clap tentatively, joined by a few other stunned-looking students. One voice, slightly quavery with disbelief, cut through the students' murmurs. "That's...that's Ron's rat."

Harry exchanged a disbelieving glance with Draco. "Nonsense!" Lockhart said briskly, glaring at Neville, who shrank under his gaze. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes! Thought you could humiliate the great Gilderoy Lockhart - Order of Merlin, Third Class - did you? I'll show you-"

His monologue cut off abruptly as Weasley jumped out of his seat, his mouth agape in outrage. His hand rose to point at Lockhart in accusation, trembling with outrage. "LOCKHART STOLE MY RAT!"

Harry's jaw dropped as he stared at the obese, somewhat patchy rat squirming furiously in Lockhart's grasp, its squeaks of distress somehow audible through the pandemonium that ensued. Beside him, Blaise's camera flashed rapidly. But for once, Lockhart ignored it completely, choosing to glare instead at the four Gryffindor boys with their wands leveled straight at his chest. Lockhart's lips peeled back from his teeth in a predatory snarl that would definitely have not made it to even the back pages of Witch Weekly. "This is no rat!" he exclaimed, waving Scabbers about frantically. "This is a-"

With a final, determined squeak, Scabbers popped free from Lockhart's grasp, launching himself at the professor's face. With a loud, high-pitched shriek, Lockhart went down, clutching at his head.

"MY HAIR!" Lockhart screamed.

"Scabbers!" Weasley cried, clambering over the desks in an attempt to reach his beloved pet. Behind him, Neville, Dean, and Seamus let out a war-yodel as they gamely did their best to follow.

"For Fwoozle!" Blaise yelled, still clicking away. The war cry was taken up by some intrepid Hufflepuffs, Hannah Abbott at their head, who advanced on the stupefying tableau from the other side.

Beside Harry, Crabbe and Goyle's faces scrunched up in the pained expressions that usually accompanied any sort of thought. "So...the rat...is a wizard?" Goyle said, nose wrinkling hideously.

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, you idiots. Lockhart's just as stupid as you two are, that's all."

"Huh," Crabbe said, and grinned widely. "Well, that's all right, then." He sat back down.

That was when Hermione, with a gasp of shock, found Weasley's missing wand on the floor, where it must have rolled from Lockhart's sleeve as he grappled with the stolen pet.

And all hell truly broke loose.

***

"I really thought he was a great wizard, you know," Harry said glumly, slumped over his pumpkin juice.

"Don't feel so bad, Harry," Pansy sighed. "He had me fooled, too. Who would have known that he was just a...a common thief!"

"I can't fathom what he was thinking," Draco said, shaking his head. "Faking the whole thing for publicity? And trying to pretend that a student's pet rat was some sort of...what was it again? A poltergeist?"

"A doppelganger, apparently," Blaise snickered. He hadn't stopped staring gleefully at the Daily Prophet since it had arrived at breakfast that morning, and Harry couldn't blame him. After all, it was Blaise's photograph of Scabbers engaged in a fierce battle with Lockhart's hair that was emblazoned across the front page.

"I don't suppose there's any chance that the rat really _was_ a doppelganger?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Doppelgangers don't really exist, Harry," Pansy said. "They're just children's stories. Besides, Daphne said that Susan said that Hannah said that Neville said the rat ran off somewhere in the struggle, so I suppose we'll never know." She sounded almost wistful.

Harry sighed, feeling even more depressed. Lockhart really had been the mastermind all along, and Harry hadn't been able to figure it out. The only consolation was that he hadn't turned out to be a particularly good mastermind, so perhaps he hadn't lost out on too much.

_There's always next year, Potter,_ Marvolo said more-or-less encouragingly, then ruined the effect by cackling.

Ah well, Harry thought, pushing the Prophet away. After all, it was the thought that counted.

And Lockhart's downfall would live in all their thoughts for a very, very long time.

***

"Stupid bloody Lucius _bloody_ Malfoy," Nymphadora Tonks muttered, glaring at her reflection in the mirror. It was a refrain that she'd been repeating for the last two months, ever since Malfoy had somehow gotten it into his head that the prisoners were somehow smuggling mail, of all things, out of Azkaban. No matter how many times the Aurors had tried to explain that that was impossible, that stupid smirking aristocrat had been like a blonde chihuahua with a bone. He'd refused to shut up until _something_ was done about it.

And, as the most junior of the latest crop of Auror trainees, that 'something' had fallen squarely on Tonks' shoulders.

She sighed, running a hand over the plain, somber face she'd taken to wearing lately. At least today would be the last day she would have to do this.

And it would also be the last bit of kindness that her uncle would probably ever see again.

With a last, lingering glance at the mirror, she tucked her newspaper under her arm, tightened her grip around her enchanted mug of warm coffee, then closed her eyes and waited until the warm light of her Patronus shone behind her eyelids.

Wand steady, she opened the door, nodding at the silent ferryman. "I'm ready," she said.

***

At first, she'd thought they'd all deserved what they got. And then she'd _seen_ the Dementors - not from a distance, standing outside the walls, as they'd done during training. She'd seen them up close: always watching, always waiting, always hungry.

Always satisfied.

Most of the prisoners were near-catatonic. Tonks did her duty obediently, checking each cell from the outside for any hint of writing materials or magical implements, but the vast majority of the unfortunates within didn't seem as if they were in any state to so much as lift a quill, let alone try to hide one. The most they were able to manage as she approached were wretched moans. At first, they'd been unnerving, but later she'd decided they weren't so bad. The really awful part was their cries of pain as the light of her Patronus moved away.

Her nerves had been frayed to their last edge by the time she'd come to _his_ cell.

"Hey," he'd rasped, wild grey eyes sunken in his sallow face, his hair matted and lank against the lines of his skull. "What's the weather like, out there?"

Tonks stared at him in disbelief. "What?" she'd said, intelligently.

"The weather. You know." Sirius Black flashed a yellow grin at her. "Always kind of overcast in here."

That first day, Tonks had glared at the traitor in disgust, and moved on.

But Black had never stopped trying to talk to her, even though she kept resolutely ignoring him. And after a while, she'd finally cracked.

"Can I have that?" he'd drawled, gesturing in her direction.

Tonks stopped dead, narrowing her eyes at him. "What?"

"Your newspaper," Black clarified. "The reading material in here is pretty subpar, you know. Ought to complain to the Ministry."

She hadn't known why she'd done it, exactly. But she'd tossed the newspaper through the bars of his cell anyway, ignoring the warning hisses of the Dementors.

"Thanks," Black had said, giving her another ghastly grin. "You're not so bad, you know, for a jackbooted Ministry thug." Tonks had just walked away, fuming internally. What had she been thinking? Black was a Death Eater and proud of it; he'd be only too happy to see her and her blood-traitor mother in a grave with the so-called friends he'd betrayed.

Good riddance. He deserved to suffer.

But then, the next day, she'd seen why he'd wanted the newspaper. How he'd rolled it up for a pillow to carefully place on top of the stained pile of rags that passed for the prisoners' bedding, and how horrifyingly _thin_ Black was as he shuddered in the relentless cold and damp of Azkaban, and how as his face relaxed in sleep she could see the same nose that her mother had - and how, if Voldemort had won, he could have been Andromeda Tonks lying there; they could _all_ have been there, and, and, _and-_

She'd immediately requested to change her shifts to the night shift, when there was no chance the prisoners would be awake.

But every day, she'd made sure to bring a newspaper with her, to slip between the bars of Black's cell as he lay sleeping.

And, as she carefully placed her last newspaper on the cell floor - SCANDAL AT HOGWARTS, the headline blared - she hoped that it would bring him some measure of peace.

Because Tonks was starting to think that _nobody_ deserved this place at all.

She walked away without a backward glance, knowing that it would be best for everyone if she were to never think about Sirius Black's fate again; knowing, as she did, that she would never be able to forget about it.

Behind her, Sirius Black stirred uneasily on his makeshift bed of old newspaper and linen scraps.

And on the floor in front of him, an innocently rolled-up paper waited for the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one brief epilogue left to go, in which we'll close off Harry's first year and set up his plans for the summer! Once again, a big thanks to Duinemerwen for helping with Pettigrew plotting and figuring out how on earth Sirius was going to get a paper delivered to him in Azkaban!
> 
> The last chapter should be up within the next few days :)


	17. An Inevitable Ending

"Well, Harry," Dumbledore said, beaming at him, "it certainly has been an interesting year, has it not?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Harry said obediently, although the level of understatement in those words was dangerously close to causing Marvolo actual, physical pain.

"And let us not forget your daring exploits," the Headmaster continued, seemingly oblivious to Harry's internal struggle. His eyes twinkled merrily as he steepled his hands on the table. "Vanquishing a troll in defense of your friends, defeating Voldemort once more for reasons which are, quite frankly, unknown to me but which I am absolutely certain were heroic in the extreme..."

Marvolo hissed something that sounded suspiciously like 'Madagascar.' Harry ignored him. "Uh, yes, sir," he said, nodding along in a hopefully convincing fashion. "Just like chapter thirteen."

"Indeed!" Dumbledore smiled at him again. "And what have you learned from the past year, Harry?"

"Well, sir," Harry said, "I've learned that before I go through with any plan, no matter how brilliant I think it is, I probably ought to write out a list of everything that sounds incredibly stupid about it before actually doing it. Especially if words like 'foolproof' and 'easy' keep going through my head whenever I think about it." 

_Spoilsport,_ Marvolo grumbled.

Dumbledore was still smiling at him expectantly. "Oh, and I learned that friendship is really important, of course, sir," he added hastily.

"Indeed!" the Headmaster said, nodding sagely. "With your friends beside you, even the impossible may be vanquished."

Harry thought about this for a second. "Well, I don't know if the power of friendship was all that useful when I was vanquishing Voldemort, sir," he admitted. "But it was definitely the key to defeating Lockhart, so I suppose that's just as good, isn't it?"

The Headmaster looked momentarily nonplussed before his smile returned in full force. "Yes, Mr. Potter," he said, chuckling. "Just as good indeed. Well, then, please do not let the ramblings of an old man keep you from your packing! I am sure you would like to say good-bye to your friends, after all."

"Oh, yes," Harry said with a genuine grin, unable to stop himself. Draco had already invited him to visit for the holidays, so he'd be seeing him - and Marvolo's errant minion - far sooner than the Headmaster might have thought.

Plus, of course, he had one friend who was _always_ going to be with him.

_Ugh! Sentiment! Don't you know that's contagious, you idiot? Disgusting!_

Yes, Marvolo would always be with him. Whether he liked it or not, he thought dryly.

 _Much better,_ Marvolo said, satisfied.

After wishing the Headmaster a pleasant summer, Harry headed back towards his dorm. He'd agreed to exchange letters with all of his friends - well, except for Slinky, who would be hibernating - and he wanted to quickly double-check to make sure he'd packed enough owl treats. Hedwig would have a lot of flying to do, after all.

A very unsettled-looking Weasley was waiting for him near the stairway to the dungeons.

"Weasley," Harry said cautiously. What was the redhead going to accuse him of doing _this_ time?

"I...I wanted to apologize," the other boy blurted out, to Harry's immense shock.

"You do?" he said incredulously.

"Yeah," Weasley said, scuffing his foot. "I shouldn't have accused you of stealing Scabbers just because you're Malfoy's friend, and a Slytherin, and generally really suspicious," he admitted. "It was pretty rotten of me, and I'm really, really sorry."

"Er," Harry said, still trying to process this. Weasley was shuffling around awkwardly, clearly discomfited by this entire turn of events. Still, it took guts to apologize. In his place, Harry would probably just have died on the spot from embarrassment so that he would never have to speak to Weasley again.

"Right," Weasley muttered. "Sorry again. I'll just, um, go somewhere else, then-"

"No, hang on," Harry said, surprising even himself. "I, er...I accept your apology, I guess."

Weasley's jaw dropped as he stared at Harry in guileless, wide-eyed astonishment. "You do?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "I mean, I don't think you're really all that good at lying," he said. Weasley confirmed the observation almost immediately with his flush. "I guess that means you meant it, which means there's no real reason for me not to accept it."

"Huh," Weasley said, then nodded jerkily at him. "You're a pretty good bloke, actually, Potter. I'll see you around, then?"

"Yeah," Harry said, still a little bewildered. "See you." Weasley grinned and headed off, looking quite oddly satisfied. What on earth did he have to be happy about?

 _Gryffindors,_ he and Marvolo thought together, shaking their heads. Incomprehensible, the lot of them.

***

Harry made sure that he ducked into the first-year Gryffindor compartment before the time came to change out of their robes. He didn't really want to go around wearing Muggle clothes in front of Draco, Pansy, and Blaise, who would probably have some very pointed questions about where exactly he lived during the summer months. It wasn't that he was ashamed of his Muggle family, of course, although a faint worm of guilt slid through his stomach at the thought. It was just that they definitely wouldn't understand.

And Harry wasn't really brave enough to try and make them do so.

He'd been meaning to catch up with Hermione and Neville, anyways. Hermione was traveling with her parents, which sounded like great fun, and Neville was apparently being shepherded to all sorts of weird wizard finishing-school things, which sounded much less fun.

"How about you, Harry?" Neville asked. "Any plans for the summer?"

"Well," Harry said, suddenly feeling very nervous and very, extraordinarily happy all at once. "I'm staying with family."

And, being Gryffindors, Hermione and Neville just smiled and carried on. And somehow, Harry just knew that everything was going to be all right.

***

Harry sighed, stretching his legs out from his perch on top of his suitcase. Uncle Vernon hadn't come to pick him up from the station. Harry supposed this was all right, seeing as Aunt Petunia had never really told him that Uncle Vernon _would_ pick him up. Still, taking the bus was going to be pretty inconvenient now that he had Hedwig with him. What was the penalty for breaking the Statute of Secrecy, anyways?

 _Just take the Knight Bus, Potter,_ Marvolo grumbled.

 _Wait, I could have been taking a special wizard bus all along?_ Harry thought, outraged. _Why didn't you tell me earlier?_

 _Because your suffering amuses me, Potter,_ Marvolo said patiently. _We've been over this._

"Ugh," Harry groaned out loud. He tried his best to mentally glare at Marvolo as he rummaged through his trunk for the baseball cap flattened somewhere near the bottom, then shoved it as far over his head as it would go. Thus disguised, he grabbed his trunk in one hand and Hedwig in the other as he headed for the pickup area, grumbling all the way.

 _Now you know how I feel,_ Marvolo said smugly.

Harry didn't dignify this with a response.

***

When he got back to Privet Drive, the Dursleys weren't home. That made things easier, Harry thought with relief as he quickly dragged his trunk up the stairs to his room. They wouldn't have to get into any fights about his wizard stuff - it would all be safely put away by the time they got back. And Hedwig was a really good owl - she barely made any noise other than the occasional soft hoot. He'd packed plenty of food for her, so the Dursleys wouldn't have to have any extra bother at all.

He hadn't begun to unpack for more than five minutes when Marvolo cleared his throat. _You know, we still have some twenty-odd issues of Potions magazines to get through._

 _You said they were useless!_ Harry protested. _You said that the needlessly bureaucratic idiocies of the Ministry stopped people from writing about actually useful stuff like exploding your enemies and dark rituals of ultimate power!_

 _Yes, but that was when I had better things to do,_ Marvolo said. _I'm_ bored.

 _Well, I'm tired,_ Harry countered. And it was true. He missed Hogwarts, in a way, but it was sort of comforting to be back home at last. Especially after the stomach-roiling trip that had been Stan Shunpike's driving. Seriously, did the wizarding world even have driving licenses?

He stretched out on the bed. If he closed his eyes for just a few minutes, that wouldn't be so bad, would it?

 _Oh, for the love of Merlin, Potter,_ Marvolo complained. _Don't make me monologue at you-_

But it was too late. Harry had already sunk into a deep, peaceful slumber.

***

The first rays of dawn had just peeked over the horizon, the students were safely home, and Albus Dumbledore had just drunk the most _delightful_ cup of pumpkin juice. That sublime moment had arrived. That magical moment which came around once a year, and lasted for just a few fleeting hours of pleasantly hazy determination.

Yes. The time had come for Albus Dumbledore to catch up on some of his paperwork.

Not all of it, of course! But the most interesting and zany proposals - he thought he'd seen an application for an animal rights club, somewhere - an exception could _always_ be made.

"Now," Dumbledore said out loud, eyes twinkling merrily as he surveyed the massive piles of paperwork on his desk. "Where should I begin?"

His hand, ever so slowly, reached out-

"Chief Warlock!" a frantic voice bellowed from his fireplace.

"Kingsley?" Paperwork completely forgotten, Dumbledore pivoted on his heel, frowning with concern. "Whatever is the matter-"

"It's Sirius Black," the man said urgently. "He's escaped Azkaban - the Dementors are rioting, the Undersecretary's pulling us off the field, we need _help-"_

All traces of mirth vanished instantly from Dumbledore's face. Without a word, he drew the Elder Wand from his sleeve, casting his Patronus in the same breath as Fawkes flew to meet him, letting out a terrible and piercing cry-

And, in a flash of blinding light, he was gone.

In his wake, a forlorn application form fluttered to the floor, lost and forgotten.

***

Harry woke up feeling extraordinarily refreshed. He got ready quickly, eager to finally have a chat with his Aunt. What sorts of things would they talk about, now that she wasn't afraid of him any more? Had they gone out to celebrate Uncle Vernon's promotion? Had Dudley actually gotten through a school year without being held back?

Oddly enough, the Dursleys weren't in the kitchen yet. Or the living room. Harry winced, embarrassed. He'd gone to bed so early! Perhaps it was still too early for them to be up? And he hadn't been that cautious about making noise, either!

He opened the fridge, figuring he might as well get started on making breakfast. There, another surprise awaited him. The fridge, usually so well-stocked with kippers and eggs and a small, rather ashamed contingent of vegetables, was almost empty. Some milk and eggs remained, but it would barely be enough for Dudley. Maybe they'd been too busy to do the shopping?

Shrugging, Harry closed the fridge, making himself some toast instead. There wasn't much of that, either, but he figured that two thin slices wouldn't go amiss. Aunt Petunia always took care of breakfast supplies. Maybe she had something special planned for today?

Harry washed his plate, loaded it in the empty dishwasher, and headed to the living room. After a few minutes spent twiddling his thumbs, he tiptoed up to his room to grab a book - a Muggle book; he made sure to double-check - and headed back down.

When he'd finished the book with no sign of them, he began to worry. Were they ill? Were they still out? But his Aunt and Uncle weren't really the sort to take trips to the seaside, or to head out on the town. Especially not with Dudley in tow.

 _Potter,_ Marvolo said quietly. Oddly enough, he didn't say any more.

Using all of the stealth skills he'd learned at Hogwarts - wouldn't _those_ be a fun thing to surprise Dudley with! - Harry crept up the stairs to Dudley's room. He turned the knob ever so slowly, sliding the door open silently to peer inside.

The room was...clean. In fact, it was almost as if there was nothing left in it. Harry blinked in surprise, even taking off his glasses briefly to rub at his eyes. Dudley's room was always a disaster zone! Harry couldn't even see his beloved SNES console anywhere, which Dudley smugly kept in pride of place near his nightstand. Had he learned a lot of discipline at Smeltings? That was pretty admirable, actually.

Oh, and Dudley wasn't there. That was all right, then. They really were probably away somewhere. Maybe they'd forgotten that Harry was coming home yesterday?

 _Potter,_ Marvolo said, more insistently.

 _Relax, Marvolo,_ Harry thought absently. Maybe he would tidy up the place a little in preparation for their return? Not that there was much to tidy up, actually. Well, other than the garden, which looked just a bit dry and untidy, as if it had missed a few days of watering. Now that was strange! Aunt Petunia would never let her garden look even a smidge less than perfect. Surely she would have asked the neighbours to water it for her? Perhaps it really had been a _long_ trip they'd gone on-

_Potter, stop. Stop this._

_What are you going on about, Marvolo?_ Harry felt rather queer, as if his head was strangely hollow and about to float away. A laugh escaped from his mouth, and he clapped a hand against it. There wasn't anything to laugh about, was there?

_Potter, get a hold of yourself! You have to-_

Harry walked down the hallway as if in a dream, pushing open the door to his aunt and uncle's room. This room, too, was neat and tidy, although in this case that wasn't anything unusual.

What was unusual was the ten fifty-pound notes and the crisply folded note resting on the middle of the bed.

Harry, the note said simply.

It's better this way.

Harry sat down on the bed, clutching Aunt Petunia's note in his hands and staring blankly at the wall. Waiting for his family to come back home. Waiting for them to tell him that they hadn't left him, too.

It was almost two hours before Harry finally accepted that the Dursleys weren't coming back.

***

In Dumbledore's office, in pride of place on the right-hand side of his desk where the Headmaster would have an eye on it at all times, a tiny, gold instrument began to wail.

But there was nobody there to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends Harry's first year.
> 
> Marvolo did try to warn him.
> 
> I am so very, very sorry.
> 
> I'll be taking a short break before beginning to post the next work in this series, since I have to catch up on my other series first! Rest assured, for better or for worse, Harry and Marvolo will return soon :)
> 
> Thank you all for staying with me until the end of this fic! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
